BY   WILLIAM    CARLETON 


AUTHORS    COPYRIGHT    EDITION. 

1     GEORGE  ROUTLEDGE  &  SONS,  LIMITED 


Thirteenth] 


Routledge's  Railway  Library  Advertiser. 


[Issue. 


ROWLANDS'   ARTICLES 

For  the  Hair,  Complexion,  and  Teeth,  are  the  PUREST  &  BEST. 


0D0NT0 


MACASSAR  OIL 


A  pure,  non-gritty  tooth 
powder;  it  whitens  the 
teeth,  prevents  decay  and 
sweetens  the  breath ;  is 
more  efficacious  than  pastes  or  washes.     2/9- 

preserves  and 
beautifies  the 
hair,  and  pre- 
vents it  fall- 
ing off  or  turning  grey,  is  the  best  Brilliantine  for 
ladies'  and  children's  hair,  being  less  greasy  and 
drying  than  ordinary  Brilliantine,  and  can  be  had  in 
a  golden  colour  for  fair  hair.     Sizes,  3/6,  7/-,  10/6, 
equal  to  four  small. 

is  a  most  soothing,  healing, 
and  refreshing  milk  for 
the  face,  hands,  and  arms. 
It  prevents  and  removes 
Freckles,  Tan,  Sunburn,  Eedness  and  Roughness  of 
the  skin,  soothes  and  heals  all  Irritation,  Chaps,  Chilblains,  Cutaneous  Eruptions, 
etc.,  and  produces  a  beautiful  and  delicate  complexion.    Bottles,  2/3  and  4/6. 

effectually  dyes  red  or  grey  hair  a  permanent 
brown  or  black.    4/- 


KALYDOR 


ESSENCE  OF  TYRE 

CI  81/n  Ml  h  ■*■  Plire  toilet  powder  in  three  tints,  White,  Eose,  and  Cream  for 
CUlVUIMlAi  ladies  of  a  Brunette  complexion  and  those  who  do  not  like  white 
powder.  Boxes,  1/-,  large  boxes,  2/6-  Ask  Chemists  for  ROWLAND'S  ARTICLES, 
20,  Hatton  Garden,  London,  and  avoid  spurious  imitations. 


BREAKFAST- — SUPPER, 


GRATEFUL-COMFORTING 

o  o  o  o 

BOILING    WATER    OR    MILK. 

rowder 


THE  BEST  THAT  MONEY  CAN  BUY.  CONTAINS  NO  ALUM. 


1495 


Thirteenth] 


Routledge's  Railway  Library  Advertiser. 


[Issue. 


THE     KOWTEY     OF     WISDOM! 

WE  GATHER  THE  HONEY  OF  WISDOM  FROM  THORNS,  NOT  FROM  FLOWERS, 

NOBILITY  OF  LIFE. 

"  Who  best  can  suffer,  best  can  do."— Milton. 
What  alone  enables  us  to  draw  a  just  moral  from 
the  tale  of  life  ? 
"  Were  I  asked  what  best  dignifies  the  present  and 
consecrates  the  past ;  what  alone  enables  us  to  draw 
a  just  moral  from  the  Tale  of  Life ;  what  sheds  the 
purest  light  upon  our  reason  ;  what  gives  the  firmest 
strength  to  our  religion  ;  what  is  best  fitted  to  soften 
the  heart  of  man  and  elevate  his  soul — I  would 
answer  with  Lassues,  it  is  '  EXPERIENCE.'  " 

lobd  lytton. 
"Queen's  head  Hotel,  Newcastle-upon-Tyne. 
"SIR,— Will  you  to-day  allow  me  to  present  you  wirh 
this  Testimonial  and  Poem  on  ENO'S  justly  celebrated 
« FRUIT  SALT  ? '  My  occupation  being  a  very  sedentary 
one,  I  came  here  to  see  what  change  of  air  would  do  for 
me,  and,  at  the  wish  of  some  personal  friends,  I  have  taken 
your  '  FRUIT  SALT,'  and  the  good  result  therefrom  is  my 
reason  for  addressing  you. 

"  I  am.  Sir,  yours  truly,  "  A  LADY. 

"  The  appetite  it  will  enforce. 
And  help  the  system  in  its  course ; 
Perhaps  you've  ate  or  drank  too  much, 
It  will  restore  like  magio  touch. 
•Depression ,  with  its  fearful  sway, 
It  drives  electric-like  away ; 
And  if  the  Blood  is  found  impure, 
It  will  effect  a  perfect  cure. 
"  Free  from  danger,  free  from  harm, 
It  acts  like  some  magician's  charm ; 
At  any  time  a  dainty  draught, 
Vi  hioh  will  "'  ,pt:l  disease's  shaft ; 
More  priceless  than  the  richest  gold, 
That  ever  did  its  wealth-unfold  : 
And  all  throughout  our  native  land 
Should  always  have  it  at  command." 

From  the  late  Rev.   J.  W.   NEIL,  Holy 
Trinity  Church,  North  Shields  :— 

"Dear  Sir,— As  an  illustration  of  the  beneficial  effects 
of  your  '  FRUIT  SALT,'   I  have  no  hesitation  in  giving 
you  particulars  of  the  case  of  one  of  my  friends.    To  such 
an  extent  did  the  sluggish  action  of  the  liver  and  its  con- 
comitant bilious  headache  affect  him,  that  he  was  obliged 
to  live  upon  only  a  few  articles  of  diet,  and  to  be  most 
sparing  in  their  use.     This,   while  it  probably  alleviated 
his  sufferings,  did  nothing  in  effecting  a  cure,  although 
persevered  in  for  some    twenty-five  years,  and  also  con- 
sulting very  eminent    members  of  the  faculty.    By  the 
use  of   your  'FRUIT    SALT,'  he   now    enjoys  vigorous 
health;   he   has  never   had  a  headache  nor  constipation 
since  he  commenced  to  use  it,  and  can  take  his  food  in  a  hearty  manner.     There  are  others  known  to  me  to 
whom  your  remedy  has  been  so  benefloiat,  that  you  may  well  extend  its  use  pro  bono  publico.    I  find  it  makes  a 
very  refreshing  and  exhilarating  drink.— I  remain,  dear  Sir,  yours  faithfully,  J.  W.  NEIL.— To  J.  C,  Eno,  Esq." 

SMALL  POX,  SCARLET  FEVER,  PYiEMIA,  ERYSIPELAS,  MEASLES,  GANGRENE, 
and  almost  every  mentionable  Disease.—"  I  have  been  a  nurse  for  upwards  of 

ten  years,  and  in  that  time  have  nursed  cases  of  scarlet  fever,  pysemia,  erysipelas,  measles, 
gangrene,  cancer,  and  almost  every  mentionable  disease.  During  the  whole  time  I  have  not 
been  ill  myself  for  a  single  day,  and  this  I  attribute  in  a  great  measure  to  tbe  use  of  EN  O'S 
FRUIT  SALT,  which  has  kept  my  blood  in  a  pure  state.  I  recommended  it  to  all  my 
patients  during  convalescence.  Its  value  as  a  means  of  health  cannot  be  overestimated. 
"  April  21st,  1894.  "A  Professional  Nursb." 

ENO'S  "FRUIT  SALT"  assists  the  functions  of  the  LIVER,  BOWELS,  SKIN,* 
and  KIDNEYS  by  Natural  Means;  thus  the  blood  is  freed  from   POISONOUS  or 
other  HURTFUL  MATTERS.     THERE  IS  NO  DOUBT  that,  where  it  has  been  taken 
in  the  earliest  stage  of  a  disease,  it  has  in  innumerable  instances  prevented  a  severe  illness. 
Without  such  a  simple  precaution  the  JEOPARDY   OF    LIFE    IS    IMMENSELY 
INCREASED.    It  is  impossible  to  overstate  its  great  value.  .  . 


CAUTION.— Esamme  each  Bottle,  and  see  the   Capsule  is  marked  ENO'S  "FRUIT  SALT.' 
Without  it,  you  have  been  imposed  on  by  a  worthless  imitation.     Sold  by  all  Chemists. 


Prepared  only  at  ENO'S  "FRUIT  SALT"  WORKS, 
[By  J.  C.  Eno  s  Patent.] 


LONDON,  S.E. 


Thirteenth]  Routledge's  Railway  Library  Advertiser.  [Issue 

WGHWS 


PILLS 


FOR  ALL 


Bilious  &  Nervous  Disorders 


SUCH   AS 


SICK  HEADACHE,  CONSTIPATION, 

WEAKSTOMACHJMPAIRED  DIGESTION, 

DISORDERED  LIVER  &  FEMALE  AILMENTS. 

Annual  Sale,  Six  Million  Boxes, 

In  Boxes,  9§d.,  Is.  lid.,  and  2s  9d.  each,  with  full  directions 

BEECHAMlfOOTH PASTE 

WILL   RECOMMEND    ITSELF. 

It  is  Efficacious,  Economical,  Cleanses  the  Teeth,  Perfumes 

the  Breath,  and  is  a  Reliable  and  Pleasant  Dentifrice. 

In  Collapsible  Tubes,  of  all  Druggists,  or  from  the  Proprietor 

for  ONE  SHILLIN&,  postage  paid. 


Prejmred  only  by  the  Proprietor — 

THOMAS    BEECHAM,   ST.    HELENS,    LANCASHIRE, 

Sold  by  all  Druggists  and  Patent  Medicine  Dealers  everywhere. 

100,000,  S.  *  B.,  Ltd.,  25/3/95. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


10000049886 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


ENDOWED  BY  THE 

DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 

SOCIETIES 


FRkkl6 

.W5 

1856 


This  book  is  due  at  the  LOUIS  R.  WILSON  LIBRARY  on  the 
last  date  stamped  under  "Date  Due."  If  not  on  hold  it  may  be 
renewed  by  bringing  it  to  the  library. 

du"           RET- 

DATE 
DUE 

~  - 

r 

• 

>;? 



[  EB  ^, 

Form  No.  513 

WILLY    REILLY, 

AND 

HIS    DEAR    COOLEEN    BAWN. 

BY 

WILLIAM    CARLETON. 


«k 


AUTHOR'S    COPYRIGHT    EDITION. 


Hontroii: 

GEORGE   ROUTLEDGE  &   SONS,   Ltd., 
Broadway,  Ludgate  Hill. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://archive.org/details/willyreillyhisdecarl 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 


Most  of  our  Irish  readers  must  be  aware  that  the  following 
story  is  founded  upon  an  incident  in  the  history  of  the  affec- 
tions, which,  ever  since  its  occurrence,  has  occupied  a  large 
portion  of  popular  interest.  From  the  very  first  discovery  of 
iheir  attachment,  the  loves  of  "Willy  Reilly  "  and  his  "  Fair 
Cooleen  Bawn"  became  celebrated,  and  were  made  the  burden 
of  many  a  rude  ballad  throughout  Ireland.  With  the  excep- 
tion, however,  of  the  one  which  we  subjoin,  they  have  all  nearly 
disappeared ;  but  that  production,  rude  as  it  is,  has  stood  its 
ground,  and  is  permanently  embodied  as  a  favourite  in  the 
ballad  poetry  of  the  people.  It  is  not,  though  couched  in 
humble  and  unpretending  language,  without  a  good  deal  of 
rustic  vigour,  and,  if  we  may  be  allowed  the  expression,  a  kind 
of  inartistic  skill,  furnished  either  by  .chance  or  nature — it  is 
difficult  to  determine  which.  We  are  of  opinion,  however,  that 
it  owes  a  great  portion  of  its  permanent  popularity  to  feelings 
which  have  been  transmitted  to  the  people,  arising  not  so 
much  from  the  direct  interest  of  the  incidents  embodied  in  it, 
as  from  the  political  spirit  of  the  times  in  which  they  occurred. 
At  that  unhappy  period  the  Penal  Laws  were  in  deadly  and 
terrible  operation ;  and  we  need  not  be  surprised  that  a  young 
and  handsome  Catholic  should  earn  a  boundless  popularity, 
especially  among  those  of  his  own  creed,  by  the  daring  and 
resolute  act  of  taking  away  a  Protestant  heiress — the  daughter 
of  a  persecutor — and  whose  fame,  from  her  loveliness  and 
accomplishments,  had  already  become  proverbial  among  the 
great  body  of  the  Irish  people,  and,  indeed,  throughout  all 
classes.  It  was  looked  upon  as  a  kind  of  triumph  over  the 
persecutors ;  and,  in  this  instance,  Cupid  himself  seemed  to 
espouse  the  cause  of  the  beads  and  rosary,  and  to  become  a 
tight  little  Catholic.  The  character  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft 
(a  fictitious  name)  is  drawn  from  traditions  which  were  some 
time  ago  floating  among  the  people,  but  which  are  fast  fading 
out  of  the  popular  mind.  The  mode  of  his  death,  and  its  con- 
comitants, the  author  has  often  heard  told  in  his  youth,  around 
the  hob,  during  the  long  winter  evenings.  With  respect  to  the 
description  of  the  state  of  the  unhappy  Catholics,  however  I 
may  have  diminished,  I  have  not  exaggerated  it ;  and  I  trust 
that  I  have  done  ample  justice  to  the  educated  Protestants  of 
the  day,  many  of  whom  not  only  opposed  the  Government 
openly  and  directly — whose  object  wa,s  extermination  by  the 
withering  operation  of  oppressive  laws — but  threw  up  their 
commissions  as  justices  of  the  peace,  and  refused  to  become 


VI  PREFACE   TO   THE   FIRST   EDITION. 

the  tools  and  abettors  of  religious  persecution.  To  such  noble- 
minded  men  I  trust  I  have  rendered  ample  justice.  The 
following  is  the  celebrated  ballad  of  "  Willy  Reilly,"  which  is 
still  sung,  and  will  long  continue  to  be  sung,  at  many  a  hearth 
in  Ireland : 

"  Oh  !  rise  up,  Willy  Reilly,  and  come  alongst  with  me, 
I  mean  for  to  go  with  you  and  leave  this  counterie, 
To  leave  my  father's  dwelling,  his  houses  and  free  lands — " 
And  away  goes  Willy  Reilly  and  his  dear  Cooleen  Bar/>i. 

They  go  by  hills  and  mountains,  and  by  yon  lonesome  plain, 
Through  shady  groves  and  valleys  all  dangers  to  refrain ; 
But  her  father  followed  after  with  a  well-arm'd  chosen  band, 
And  taken  was  poor  Reilly  and  his  dear  Cooleen  Bawn. 

It's  home  then  she  was  taken,  and  in  her  closet  bound, 
Poor  Reilly  all  in  Sligo  jail  lay  on  the  stony  ground, 
Till  at  the  bar  of  justice  before  the  Judge  he'd  stand, 
For  nothing  but  the  stealing  of  his  dear  Cooleen  Baivn. 

f*  Now  in  the  cold,  cold  iron,  my  hands  and  feet  are  bound, 
I'm  handcuffed  like  a  murderer,  and  tied  unto  the  ground  j 
But  all  this  toil  and  slavery  I'm  willing  for  to  stand, 
Still  hoping  to  be  succoured  by  my  dear  Cooleen  Bawn. 

The  jailor's  son  to  Reilly  goes,  and  thus  to  him  did  say, 
"  Oh  !  get  up,  Willy  Reilly,  you  must  appear  this  day, 
For  great  Squire  Folliard's  anger  you  never  can  withstand  ; 
I'm  afear'd  you'll  suffer  sorely  for  your  dear  Cooleen  Bawn. 

"This  is  the  news,  young  Reilly,  last  night  that  I  did  hear, 
The  lady's  oath  will  hang  you,  or  else  will  set  you  clear." 
"  If  that  be  so,"  says  Reilly,  "  her  pleasure  I  will  stand, 
Still  hoping  to  be  succoured  by  my  dear  Cooleen  Bawn." 

Now  Willy's  drest  from  top  to  toe  all  in  ^  suit  of  green, 
His  hair  hangs  o'er  his  shoulders  most  glorious  to  be  seen  ; 
He's  tall  and  straight  and  comely  as  any  could  be  found,   . 
He's  fit  for  Folliard's  daughter,  was  she  heiress  to  a  crown. 

The  Judge  he  said,  "This  lady  being  in  her  tender  youth, 
If  Reilly  has  deluded  her,  she  will  declare  the  truth." 
Then,  like  a  moving  beauty  bright,  before  him  she  did  stand. 
"You're  welcome  there  my  heart's  delight  and  dear  Cooleen  Bawn  / 

"Oh,  gentlemen,"  Squire  Folliard  said,  "with  pity  look  on  me, 
This  villain  came  amongst  us  to  disgrace  our  family, 
And  by  his  base  contiivances  this  villany  was  planned ; 
If  I  don't  get  satisfaction  I  will  quit  this  Irish  land." 

The  lady  with  a  tear  began,  and  thus  replied  she, 
"The  fault  is  none  of  Reilly's,  the  blame  lies  all  on  me  : 
I  forced  him  for  to  leave  his  place  and  come  along  with  me  ; 
I  loved  him  out  of  measure  which  has  wrought  our  destiny." 


PREBACE   TO   THE   FIRST   EDITION.  Vll 

Then  out  bespoke  the  noble  Fox,  at  the  table  he  stood  by, 

"Oh  !  gentlemen,  consider  on  this  extremity, 

To  hang  a  man  for  love  is  a  murder  you  may  see, 

So  spare  the  life  of  Reilly,  let  him  leave  this  counterie." 

"  Good  my  Lord,  he  stole  from  her  her  diamonds  and  her  rings, 
Gold  watch  and  silver  buckles,  and  many  precious  things, 
Which  cost  me  in  bright  guineas,  more  than  five  hundred  pounds, 
I  will  have  the  life  of  Reiily  should  I  lose  ten  thousand  pounds." 

"  Good  my  Lord,  I  gave  them  him  as  tokens  of  true  love  ; 

And  when  we  are  a-parting  I  will  them  all  remove : 

If  you  have  got  them,  Reilly,  pray  send  them  home  to  me  ; 

They're  poor  compared  to  that  true  heart  which  I  have  given  to  thee. 

"  There  is  a  ring  among  them  I  allow  yourself  to  wear, 

With  thirty  locket  diamonds  well  set  in  silver  fair ; 

And  as  a  true-love  token  wear  it  on  your  right  hand, 

That  you  may  think  on  my  broken  heart  when  you're  in  a  foreign  land." 

Then  out  spoke  noble  Fox,  "  You  may  let  the  prisoner  go, 
The  lady's  oath  has  cleared  him,  as  the  Jury  all  may  know  : 
She  has  released  her  own  true  love,  she  has  renewed  his  name, 
May  her  honour  bright  gain  high  estate,  and  her  offspring  rise  to  fame.'7 

This  ballad  I  found  in  a  state  of  wretched  disorder.  It 
passed  from  one  individual  to  another  by  ear  alone ;  and  the 
inconsecutive  position  of  the  verses,  occasioned  by  inaccuracy 
of  memory  and  ignorance,  has  sadly  detracted  from  its  genuine 
force.  As  it  existed  in  the  oral  versions  of  the  populace,  the 
narrative  was  grossly  at  variance  with  the  regular  progress  of 
circumstances  which  characterise  a  trial  of  any  kind,  but  espe- 
cially such  a  trial  as  that  which  it  undertakes  to  describe.  The 
individuals  concerned  in  it,  for  instance,  are  made  to  speak  out 
of  place  ;  and  it  would  appear,  from  all  the  versions  that  I  have 
heard,  as  if  every  stanza  was  assigned  its  position  by  lot.  This 
fact,  however,  I  have  just  accounted  for  and  remedied,  by 
having  restored  them  to  their  original  places,  so  that  the 
vigorous  but  rustic  bard  is  not  answerable  for  the  confusion  to 
which  unprinted  poetry,  sung  by  an  uneducated  people,  is 
liable.  As  the  ballad  now  stands,  the  character  of  the  poet  is 
satisfactorily  vindicated ;  and  the  disorder  which  crept  in  during 
the  course  of  time,  though  strongly  calculated  to  weaken  its 
influence,  has  never  been  able  to  injure  its  fame.  This  is  a  high 
honour  to  its  composer,  ai^l  proves  him  well  worthy  of  the 
popularity  which,  under  such  adverse  circumstances,  has  taken 
so  firm  a  hold  of  the  peasant  feeling,  and  survived  so  long. 

The  author  trusts  that  he  has  avoided,  as  far  as  the  truthful 
treatment  of  his  subject  would  enable  him,  the  expression  of 
any  political  sentiment  calculated  to  give  offence  to  any  party 


Vlll  PREFACE   TO   THE   FIRST  EDITION. 

— an  attempt  of  singular  difficulty  in  a  country  so  miserably 
divided  upon  religious  feelings  as  this.  The  experience  of 
centuries  should  teach  statesmen  and  legislators  that  persecu- 
tion on  account  of  creed  and  conscience,  is  not  only  bad  feel- 
ing, but  worse  policy ;  and  if  the  author,  in  these  pages,  has 
succeeded  in  conveying  this  self-evident  truth  to  his  readers, 
he  will  rest  satisfied  with  that  result,  however  severely  the 
demerits  of  his  work  may  be  censured  upon  purely  literary 
grounds.  One  thing  may  be  said  in  his  defence — that  it  was 
utterly  impossible  to  dissociate  the  loves  of  this  celebrated 
couple  from  the  condition  of  the  country,  and  the  operation  of 
the  .mercilesss  laws  which  prevailed  against  the  Catholics  in 
their  day.  Had  the  lovers  both  been  Catholics,  or  both  been 
Protestants,  this  might  have  been  avoided  ;  but,  as  political 
and  religious  matters  then  stood,  to  omit  the  state  and  condi- 
tion of  society  which  resulted  from  them,  and  so  deeply  affected. 
their  fate,  would  be  somewhat  like  leaving  the  character  of 
Hamlet  out  of  the  tragedy. 

As  the  work  was  first  written,  I  described  a  good  many  of 
the  Catholic  priests  of  the  day  as  disguised  in  female  apparel ; 
but  on  discovering  that  there  exists  au  ecclesiastical  regulation 
or  canon  forbidding  any  priest,  under  whatever  persecution  or 
pressure,  to  assume  such  apparel  for  the  purpose  of  disguising 
his  person  or  saving  his  life,  I,  of  course,  changed  that  portion 
of  the  matter,  although  a  layman  might  well  be  pardoned  for 
his  ignorance  of  an  ecclesiastical  statute,  which,  except  in  very; 
rare  cases,  can  be  known  only  to  ecclesiastics  themselves.  I 
retain  one  instance,  however,  of  this  description,  which  I  ascribe 
to  Hennessy,  the  degraded  friar,  who  is  a  historical  character, 
and  who  wrought  a  vast  weight  of  evil,  as  an  informer,  against 
the  Catholic  prieshood  of  Ireland,  both  regular  and  secular. 

With  respect  to  the  family  name  of  the  heroine  and  her 
father,  I  have  adopted  both  the  popular  pronunciation  and 
orthography,  instead  of  the  real.  I  give  it  simply  as  I  found  it 
in  the  ballad,  and  as  I  always  heard  it  pronounced  by  the  people  ; 
in  the  first  place,  from  reluctance,  by  writing  it  accurately,  to 
give  offence  to  that  portion  of  this  highly  respectable  family 
which  still  exists ;  and,  in  the  next,  from  a  disinclination  to 
disturb  the  original  impressions  made  on  the  popular  mind  by 
the  ballad  and  the  traditions  associated  with  it.  So  far  as  the 
traditions  go,  there  was  nothing  connected  with  the  heroine  of 
which  her  descendants  need  feel  ashamed.  If  it  had  been  other- 
wise, her  memory  never  would  have  been  enshrined  in  the 
affections  of  the  Irish  people  for  such  an  unusual  period  of 
time. 

Dublin,  February,  1855. 


PEEFACE  TO   THE   SECOND  EDITION. 


I  am  agreeably  called  upon  by  niy  bookseller  to  prepare  for  a 
Second  Edition  of  "Willy  Reilly."  This  is  at  all  times  a 
pleasing  call  upon  an  author;  and  it  is  so  especially  to  me, 
inasmuch  as  the  first  Edition  was  sold  at  the  fashionable,  but 
unreasonable,  price  of  a  guinea  and  a  half — a  price  which,  in 
this  age  of  cheap  literature,  is  almost  fatal  to  the  sale  of  any 
three- volume  novel,  no  matter  what  may  be  its  merits.  With 
respect  to  "  Willy  Reilly,"  it  may  be  necessary  to  say  that  I 
never  wrote  any  work  of  the  same  extent  in  so  short  a  time,  or 
with  so  much  haste.  Its  popularity,  however,  has  been  equal 
to  that  of  any  other  of  my  productions ;  and  the  reception 
which  it  has  experienced  from  the  ablest  public  and  profes- 
sional critics  of  the  day,  has  far  surpassed  my  expectations.  I 
accordingly  take  this  opportunity  of  thanking  them  most  sin- 
cerely for  the  favourable  verdict  which  they  have  generously 
pas>ed  upon  it,  as  I  do  for  their  kindness  to  my  humble  efforts 
for  the  last  twenty-eight  years.  Nothing,  indeed,  can  be  a 
greater  encouragement  to  a  literary  man,  to  a  novel  writer,  in 
fact,  than  the  reflection,  that  he  has  an  honest  and  generous 
tribunal  to  encounter.  If  he  be  a  quack  or  an  impostor,  they 
will  at  once  detect  him ;  but  if  he  exhibit  human  nature  and 
truthful  character  in  his  pages,  it  matters  not  whether  he  goes 
to  his  bookseller's  in  a  coach,  or  plods  there  humbly,  and  on 
foot :  they  will  forget  everything  but  the  value  and  merit  of 
what  he  places  before  them.  On  this  account  it  is  that  I 
reverence  and  respect  them  ;  and  indeed  I  ought  to  do  so,  for  I 
owe  them  the  gratitude  of  a  pretty  long  literary  life. 

Concerning  this  Edition,  I  must  say  something.  I  have 
already  stated  that  it  was  written  rapidly  and  in  a  hurry.  On 
reading  it  over  for  correction,  I  was  struck  in  my  cooler 
moments  by  many  defects  in  it,  which  were  kindly  overlooked, 
or,  perhaps,  not  noticed  at  all.  To  myself,  however,  who  had 
been  brooding  over  this  work  for  a  long  time,  they  at  once 
became  obvious.  I  have  accordingly  added  an  underplot  of 
affection  between  Fergus  Reilly — mentioned  as  a  distant  re- 
lative of  my  hero — and  the  Cooleen  Bawn's  maid,  Ellen  Connor. 
In  doing  so,  I  have  not  disturbed  a  single  incident  in  the 
work  ;  and  the  reader  who  may  have  perused  the  first  Edition,; 
if  he  should  ever — as  is  not  unfrequently  the  case — peruse  this 
second  one,  will  certainly  wonder  how  the  editions  were  made. 
That,  however,  is  the  secret  of  the  author,  with  which  they 
have  nothing  to  do  but  to  enjoy  the  book,  if  they  can  enjoy  it. 


X  PREFACE   TO   THE   SECOND   EDITION. 

With  respect  to  the  O'Reilly  name  and  family,  I  have  con- 
sulted my  distinguished  friend — and  I  am  proud  to  call  him 
so— John  O'Donovan,  Esq.,  LL.D.,  M.R.I.A.,  who,  "with  the 
greatest  kindness,  placed  the  summary  of  the  history  of  that 
celebrated  family  at  my  disposal.  This  learned  gentleman  is 
an  authority  beyond  all  question.  With  respect  to  Ireland — 
her  language — her  old  laws — her  history — her  antiquities — her 
archaeology — her  topography,  and  the  genealogy  ot  her  fami- 
lies, he  is  a  perfect  miracle,  as  is  his  distinguished  fellow- 
labourer  in  the  same  field,  Eugene  Curry.  Two  such  men — 
and,  including  Dr.  Petrie,  three  such  men — Ireland  never  has 
produced,  and  never  can  again — for  this  simple  reason,  that 
they  will  have  left  nothing  after  them  for  their  successors  to 
accomplish.  To  Eugene  Curry  I  am  indebted  for  the  principal 
fact  upon  which  my  novel  of  the  "  Tithe  Proctor  "  was  written 
— the  able  introduction  to  which  was  printed  verbatim  from  a 
manuscript  with  which  he  kindly  furnished  me.  The  follow- 
ing is  Dr.  O'Donovan's  clear  and  succinct  history  of  the 
O'Reilly  family  from  the  year  435  until  the  present  time  : — 

"The  ancestors  of  the  family  of  O'Reilly  had  been  celebrated  in  Irish 
history  long  before  the  establishment  of  surnames  in  Ireland.  In  the 
year  435  their  ancestor,  Duach  Galacb,  king  of  Connaught,  was  bap- 
tized by  St.  Patrick  on  the  banks  of  Loch  Scola,  and  they  had  remained 
Christians  of  the  old  Irish  Church,  which  appears  to  have  been  peculiar 
in  its  mode  of  tonsure,  and  of  keeping  Easter ;  (and,  since  the  twelfth 
century,  firm  adherents  to  the  religion  of  the  Pope,  till  Dowell  O'Reilty, 
Esq.,  the  father  of  the  present  head  of  the  name,  quarrelling  with  Father 
Dowling,  of  Stradbally,  turned  Protestant,  about  the  year  1800.) 

"  The  ancestor  after  whom  they  took  the  family  name  was  Reillagh,  who 
was  chief  of  his  sept,  and  flourished  about  the  year  981. 

"  From  this  period  they  are  traced  in  the  Irish  Annals  through  a  long 
line  of  powerful  chieftains  of  East  Breifny  (Co.  Cavan),  who  succeeded 
each  other,  according  to  the  law  of  Tanistry,  till  the  year  1585,  when 
two  rival  chieftains  of  the  name,  Sir  John  O'Reilly  and  Edmund 
O'Reilly,  appeared  in  Dublin,  at  the  parliament  summoned  by  Perrot. 
Previously  to  this,  John  O'Reilly,  finding  his  party  weak,  had  repaired 
to  England,  in  1583,  to  solicit  Queen  Elizabeth's  interest,  and  had  been 
kindly  received  at  Court,  and  invested  with  the  order  of  Knighthood, 
and  promised  to  be  made  Earl,  whereupon  he  returned  home  with 
letters  from  the  Queen  to  the  Lord  Deputy  and  Council  of  Ireland, 
instructing  them  to  support  him  in  his  claims.  His  uncle,  Edmund,  of 
Kilnacrott,  would  have  succeeded  Hugh  Connallagh  O'Reilly,  the  father 
of  Sir  John,  according  to  the  Irish  law  of  Tanistry,  but  he  was  set  aside 
by  Elizabeth's  government,  and  Sir  John  set  up  as  O'Reilly  in  his 
place.  Sir  John  being  settled  in  the  chieftainship  of  East  Breifny, 
entered  into  certain  articles  of  agreement  with  Sir  John  Perrot,  the 
Lord  Deputy,  and  the  Council  of  Ireland,  whereby  he  agreed  to 
surrender  the  principality  of  East  Breifny  to  the  Queen,  on  condition  of 
obtaining  it  again  from  the  Crown  in  capite  by  English  tenure,  and  the 


PREFACE   TO   THE   SECOND   EDITION.  XI 

same  to  be  ratified  to  him  and  the  heirs  male  of  his  body.  In  conse- 
quence of  this  agreement,  and  with  the  intent  of  abolishing  the  tanistic 
succession,  he,  on  the  last  day  of  August,  1590,  perfected  a  deed  of 
feofment,  entailing  thereby  the  seignory  of  Breifny  (O'Reilly)  on  his 
eldest  son,  Malmore  (Myles)  surnamed  Alainn  (the  comely),  afterwards 
known  as  THE  Queen* s  C  Reilly. 

"  Nothwithstanding  these  transactions,  Sir  John  O'Reilly  soon  after 
joined  in  the  rebellion  of  Hugh,  Earl  of  Tyrone,  and  died  on  the  first 
of  June,  1596.  After  his  death  the  Earl  of  Tyrone  set  up  his  second 
brother,  Philip,  as  the  O'Reilly,  and  the  government  of  Elizabeth 
supported  the  claim  of  Sir  John's  son,  Malmore,  THE  COMELY,  in  oppo- 
sition to  Philip,  and  Edmund  of  Kilnacrott.  But  Malmore,  the  Queen's 
O'Reilly,  was  slain  by  Tyrone  in  the  great  battle  of  the  Yellow  Ford, 
near  Benburb,  on  the  14th  of  August,  1598,  and  the  Irish  of  Ulster 
agreed  to  establish  Edmund,  of  Kilnacrott,  as  THE  O'Reilly. 

"  The  lineal  descendants  of  Sir  John  passed  into  the  French  service, 
and  are  now  totally  unknown,  and  probably  extinct.  The  descendants 
of  Edmund  of  Kilnacrott,  have  been  far  more  prolific  and  more 
fortunate.  His  senior  representative  is  my  worthy  old  friend,  Myles 
John  O'Reilly,  Esq.,  Heath  House,  Emo,  Queen's  Co.,  and  from  him 
are  also  descended  the  O'Reillys  of  Thomastown  Castle,  in  the  county 
of  Louth,  the  Counts  O'Reilly  of  Spain,  the  0'R.eillys  of  Beltrasna,  in 
Westmeath,  and  the  Reillys  of  Scarva  House,  in  the  Co.  of  Down. 

"  Edmund  of  Kilnacrott  had  a  son  John,  who  had  a  son  Brian,  by 
Mary,  daughter  of  the  Baron  of  Dunsany,  who  had  a  famous  son 
Malmore,  commonly  called  Myles  the  Slasher.  This  Myles  was  an 
able  military  leader  during  the  civil  wars  of  1641,  and  showed  prodigies 
of  valour  during  the  yeais  1641,  1642,  and  1643  ;  but  in  1644,  being 
encamped  at  Granard,  in  the  county  of  Longford,  with  Lord  Casllehaven, 
who  ordered  him  to  proceed  with  a  chosen  detachment  of  horse  to 
defend  the  bridge  of  Finea  against  the  Scots,  then  bearing  down  on  the 
main  army  with  a  very  superior  force,  Myles  was  slain  at  the  head  of 
his  troops,  fighting  bravely  on  the  middle  of  the  bridge.  Tradition 
adds,  that  during  this  action  he  encountered  the  colonel  of  the  Scots  in 
single  combat,  who  laid  open  his  cheek  with  a  blow  of  his  sword  ;  but 
Myles,  whose  jaws  were  stronger  than  a  smith's  vice,  held  fast  the 
Scotchman's  sword  between  his  teeth  till  he  cut  him  down,  but,  the 
main  body  of  the  Scots  pressing  upon  him,  he  was  left  dead  on  the 
bridge. 

"This  Myles  the  Slasher  was  the  father  of  Colonel  John  O'Reilly,  of 
Ballymacadd,  in  the  Co.  Meatb,  who  was  elected  Knight  of  the  Shire 
for  the  Co.  of  Cavan,  in  the  parliament  held  at  Dublin  on  the  7th  of 
May,  1689.  He  raised  a  regiment  of  dragoons,  at  his  own  expense,  for 
the  service  of  James  II.,  and  assisted  at  the  siege  of  Londonderry  in 
1689.  He  had  two  engagements  with  Col.  Wolsley,  the  commander  of 
the  garrison  of  Belturbet,  whom  he  signally  defeated.  He  fought  at  the 
battles  of  the  Boyne  and  Aughrim,  and  was  included  in  the  articles  of 
capitulation  of  Limerick,  whereby  he  preserved  his  property,  and  was 
allowed  to  carry  arms. 

"  Of  the  eldest  son  of  this  Col.  John  O'Reilly,  who  left  issue,  my 
friend,  Myles  J.  O'Reilly,  Esq.,  is  now  the  senior  representative. 


xii  PREFACE  TO   THE  SECOND  EDITION. 

"  From  Col.  John  O'Reilly's  youngest  son,  Thomas  O'Reilly,  of  Bel- 
trasna,  was  descended  Count  Alexander  O'Reilly,  of  Spain,  who  TOOK 
Algiers  !  immortalised  by  Byron.  This  Alexander  was  born  near 
Old  castle,  in  the  Co.  Meath,  in  the  year  1722.  He  was  Generalissimo 
of  his  Catholic  Majesty's  forces,  and  Inspector-General  of  the  Infantry, 
etc.,  etc.  In  the  year  1786  he  employed  the  Chevalier  Thomas 
O'Gorman  to  compile  for  him  a  history  of  the  House  of  O'Reilly,  for 
which  he  paid  O'Gorman  the  sum  of  ^1,137  10s.,  the  original  receipt  for 
which  I  have  in  my  possession. 

"  From  this  branch  of  the  O'Reilly  family  was  also  descended  the 
illustrious  Andrew  Count  O'Reilly,  who  died  at  Vienna  in  1832,  at  the 
age  of  92.  He  was  General  of  Cavalry  in  the  Austrian  service.  This 
distinguished  man  filled  in  succession  all  the  military  grades  in  the 
Austrian  service,  with  the  exception  of  that  of  Field  Marshal,  and  was 
called  by  Napoleon  '  le  respectable  General  O'Reilly. ' 

"  The  eldest  son  of  Myles  J.  O'Reilly,  Esq.,  is  a  young  gentleman  of 
great  promise  and  considerable  fortune.  His  rencontre  with  Lord 
Clements  (now  Earl  of  Leitrim)  has  been  not  long  since  prominently 
before  the  public,  and  in  a  manner  which  does  justice  to  our  old  party 
quarrels  !  Both  are,  however,  worthy  of  their  high  descent :  and  it  is 
to  be  hoped  that  they  will  soon  become  good  friends,  as  they  are  both 
young,  and  remarkable  for  benevolence  and  love  of  fatherland." 

As  this  has  been  considered  by  some  persons  as  a  historical 
novel,  although  I  really  never  intended  it  as  such,  it  may  be 
necessary  to  give  the  reader  a  more  distinct  notion  of  the 
period  in  which  the  incidents  recorded  in  it  took  place.  The 
period  then  was  about  that  of  1745,  when  Lord  Chesterfield 
was  Governor-General  of  Ireland.  This  nobleman,  though  an 
infidel,  was  a  bigot,  and  a  decided  anti-Catholic;  nor  do  I 
think  that  the  temporary  relaxation  of  the  penal  laws  against 
Catholics  was  anything  else  than  an  apprehension  on  the  part 
of  England  that  the  claims  of  the  Pretender  might  be  supDorted 
by  the  Irish  Catholics,  who,  then,  so  depressed  and  persecuted, 
mu3t  have  naturally  felt  a  strong  interest  in  having  a  prince 
who  professed  their  own  religion  placed  upon  the  English 
throne.  Strange  as  it  may  appear,  however,  and  be  the  cause 
of  it  what  it  may,  the  Catholics  of  Ireland,  as  a  people  and  as 
a  body,  took  no  part  whatever  in  supporting  him.  Under 
Lord  Chesterfield's  administration,  one  of  the  most  shocking 
and  unnatural  Acts  of  Parliament  ever  conceived,  passed  into 
a  law.  This  was  the  making  void  and  null  all  intermarriages 
between  Catholic  and  Protestant  that  should  take  place  after 
the  1st  of  May,  1746.  Such  an  Act  was  a  renewal  of  the 
Statute  of  Kilkenny,  and  it  was  a  fortunate  circumstance  to 
Willy  Reilly  and  his  dear  Gooleen  Bawn,  that  he  had  the  con- 
solation of  having  been  transported  for  seven  years.  Had  her 
father  even  given  his  consent  at  an  earlier  period,  the  laws 
of  the  land  would  have   rendered  their  marriage  impossible. 


PREFACE  TO   THE   SECOND   EDITION.  XI11 

This  cruel  law,  however,  was  overlooked ;  for  it  need  hardly  be 
said  that  it  was  met  and  spurned  not  only  by  human  reason, 
but  by  human  passion.  In  truth,  the  strong  and  influential  of 
both  religions  treated  it  with  contempt,  and  trampled  on  it 
without  any  dread  of  the  consequences.  By  the  time  of  his 
return  from  transportation,  it  was  merely  a  dead  letter,  disre- 
garded and  scorned  by  both  parties,  and  was  no  obstruction  to 
either  the  marriage  or  the  happiness  of  himself  and  his  dear 
Cooleen  Baivn. 

I  know  not  that  there  is  anything  else  I  can  add  to  this 
preface,  unless  the  fact,  that  I  have  heard  several  other  ballads 
upon  the  subject  of  these  celebrated  lovers — all  of  the  same 
tendency,  and  all  in  the  highest  praise  of  the  beauty  and 
virtues  of  the  fair  Cooleen  Baivn.  Their  utter  vulgarity,  how- 
ever, precludes  them  from  a  place  in  these  pages.  And,  by 
the  way,  talking  of  the  law  which  passed  under  the  adminis- 
tration of  Lord  Chesterfield  against  intermarriages,  it  is  not 
improbable  that  the  elopement  of  Eeilly  and  the  Cooleen  Baivn, 
in  addition  to  the  execution  of  the  man  to  whom  I  have  given 
the  name  of  Sir  Kobert  Whitecraft,  may  have  introduced  it  in 
a  spirit  of  reaction,  not  only  against  the  consequences  of  the 
elopement,  but  against  the  baronet's  ignominious  death.  Thus, 
in  every  point  from  which  we  can  view  it,  the  fate  of  this 
celebrated  couple  involved  not  only  popular  feeling,  but 
national  importance. 

I  have  not  been  able  to  trace  with  any  accuracy  or  satisfac- 
tion that  portion  or  branch  of  the  O'Eeilly  family  to  which  my 
hero  belonged.  The  dreary  lapse  of  time,  and  his  removal 
from  the  country,  have  been  the  means  of  sweeping  into 
oblivion  everything  concerning  him,  with  the  exception  of  his 
love  for  Miss  Folliard,  and  its  strange  consequences.  Even 
tradition  is  silent  upon  that  part  of  the  subject,  and  I  fear  that 
any  attempt  to  throw  light  upon  it  must  end  only  in  disappoint- 
ment. I  have  reason  to  believe  that  the  Counsellor  Fox,  who 
acted  as  his  advocate,  was  never  himself  raised  to  the  bench  ; 
but  that  that  honour  was  reserved  for  his  son,  who  was  an 
active  judge  a  little  before  the  close  of  the  last  century. 

W.  CARLETG^. 

Dublin.  December,  1856. 


WILLY   REILLY 


CHAPTER  I. 

AN   ADVENTURE  AND  AN  ESCAPE. 

PIRIT    of   George   Prince  Regent   James,    Esq., 
forgive  me  this  commencement !  * 

It  was  one  evening  at  the  close  of  a  Sep- 
tember month  and  a  September  day,  that  two 
equestrians  might  be  observed  passing  along 
one  of  those  old  and  lonely  Irish  roads  that 
seemed,  from  the  nature  of  its  construction,  to  have  been 
paved  by  a  society  of  antiquarians,  if  a  person  could  judge 
from  its  obsolete  character,  and  the  difficulty,  without 
risk  of  neck  and  limb,  of  riding  a  horse  or  driving  a 
carriage  along  it.  Ireland,  as  our  English  readers  ought 
to  know,  has  always  been  a  country  teeming  with  abun- 
dance— a  happy  land,  in  which  want,  destitution,  sickness, 
and  famine  have  never  been  felt  or  known,  except  through 
the  mendacious  misrepresentations  of  her  enemies.  The 
road  we  speak  of  was  a  proof  of  this ;  for  it  was  evident  to 
every  observer  that  in  some  season  of  superabundant  food, 
the  people,  not  knowing  exactly  how  to  dispose  of  their 
shilling  loaves,  took  to  paving  the  common  roads  with 
them,  rather  than  they  should  be  utterly  useless.  These 
loaves,  in  the  course  of  time,  underwent  the  process  of 
petrifaction,  but  could  not,  nevertheless,  be  looked  upon 
as  wholly  lost  to  the  country.  A  great  number  of  the 
Irish,  within  six  of  the  last  preceding  years — that  is,  from 
'46  to  '52 — took  a  peculiar  fancy  for  them  as  food,  which, 

*  I  mean  no  offence  whatsoever  to  this  distinguished  and  multitu- 
dinous writer  ;  but  the  commencement  of  this  novel  really  resembled 
that  of  so  many  of  his,  that  I  was  anxious  to  avoid  the  charge  of 
imitating  him. 

A 


2  WILLY  REILLY. 

we  presume,  caused  their  enemies  to  say  that  we  then  had 
hard  times  in  Ireland.  Be  this  as  it  may,  ifc  enabled  the 
sagacious  epicures  who  lived  upon  them  to  retire,  in 
due  course,  to  the  delightful  retreats  of  Skull  and 
Skibbereen,*  and  similar  asylums,  there  to  pass  the  very 
short  remainder  of  their  lives  in  health,  ease,  and  luxury. 

The  evening,  as  we  have  said,  was  about  the  close  of 
September,  when  the  two  equestrians  we  speak  of  were 
proceeding  at  a  pace  necessarily  slow.  One  of  them  was  a 
bluff,  fresh-complexioned  man,  of  about  sixty  summers; 
but  although  of  a  healthy  look,  and  a  frame  that  had 
evidently  once  been  vigorous,  yet  he  was  a  good  deal 
stooped,  had  about  him  all  the  impotence  of  plethora,  and 
his  hair,  which  fell  down  his  shoulders,  was  white  as  snow. 
The  other,  who  rode  pretty  close  to  him,  was  much  about 
his  own  age,  or  perhaps  a  few  years  older,  if  one  could 
judge  by  a  face  that  gave  more  undeniable  evidence  of 
those  furrows  and  wrinkles  which  Time  usually  leaves 
behind  him.  This  person  did  not  ride  exactly  side  by  side 
with  the  first-mentioned,  but  a  little  aback,  though  not  so 
far  as  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  conversation.  At  this 
time  it  may  be  mentioned  here  that  every  man  that  could 
afford  it  wore  a  wig,  with  the  exception  of  some  of  those 
eccentric  individuals  that  are  to  be  found  in  every  state 
and  period  of  society,  and  who  are  remarkable  for  that 
peculiar  love  of  singularity  which  generally  constitutes  their 
character — a  small  and  harmless  ambition,  easily  gratified, 
and  involving  no  injury  to  their  fellow  creatures.  The 
second  horseman,  therefore,  wore  a  wig;  but  the  other, 
although  he  eschewed  that  ornament,  if  it  can  be  called  so, 
was  by  no  means  a  man  of  that  mild  and  harmless  character 
which  we  have  attributed  to  the  eccentric  and  unfashionable 
class  of  whom  we  have  just  spoken.  So  far  from  that,  he 
was  a  man  of  an  obstinate  and  violent  temper,  of  strong 


*  Two  poor-houses  in  the  most  desolate  parts  of  the  county  of 
Cork  where  famine,  fever,  dysentery,  and  cholera,  rendered  more 
destructive  by  the  crowded  state  of  the  houses  and  the  consequent 
want  of  ventilation,  swept  away  the  wretched  inmates  to  the  amount, 
if  we  recollect  lightly,  of  sometimes  from  fifty  to  seventy  per  diem 
in  the  years  '45  and  '47. 


WILLY  REILLY.  3 

and  unreflecting  prejudices  both  for  good  and  evil,  hot, 
persevering,  and  vindictive,  though  personally  brave,  in- 
trepid, and  often  generous.  Like  many  of  his  class,  he 
never  troubled  his  head  about  religion  as  a  matter  that 
must,  and  ought  to  have  been,  personally,  of  the  chiefest 
interest  to  himself,  but,  at  the  same  time,  he  was  looked 
upon  as  one  of  the  best  and  staunchest  Protestants  of  the 
day.  His  loyalty  and  devotedness  to  the  throne  of  England 
were  not  only  unquestionable,  but  proverbial  throughout 
the  country ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  he  regarded  no  clergy- 
man, either  of  his  own  or  any  other  creed,  as  a  man  whose 
intimacy  was  worth  preserving,  unless  he  was  able  to  take 
off  his  three  or  four  bottles  of  claret  after  dinner.  In  fact, 
not  to  keep  our  readers  longer  in  suspense,  the  relation 
which  he  and  his  companion  bore  to  each  other  was  that  of 
master  and  servant. 

The  hour  was  now  a  little  past  twilight,  and  the  western 
sky  presented  an  unusual,  if  not  an  ominous  appearance. 
A  sharp  and  melancholy  breeze  was  abroad,  and  the  sun, 
which  had  set  among  a  mass  of  red  clouds,  half-placid,  and 
half-angry  in  appearance,  had  for  some  brief  space  gone 
down.  Over  from  the  north,  however,  glided  by  imper- 
ceptible degrees  a  long  black  bar,  right  across  the  place  of 
his  disappearance,  and  nothing  could  be  more  striking  than 
the  wild  and  unnatural  contrast  between  the  dying  crimson 
of  the  west,  and  this  fearful  mass  of  impenetrable  darkness 
that  came  over  it.  As  yet  there  was  no  moon,  and  the 
portion  of  light  or  rather  "  darkness  visible,"  that  feebly 
appeared  on  the  sky  and  the  landscape,  was  singularly 
sombre  and  impressive,  if  not  actually  appalling.  The 
scene  about  them  was  wild  and  desolate  in  the  extreme ; 
and  as  the  faint  outlines  of  the  bleak  and  barren  moors 
appeared  in  the  dim  and  melancholy  distance,  the  feelings 
they  inspired  were  those  of  discomfort  and  depression.  On 
each  side  of  them  were  a  variety  of  lonely  lakes,  abrupt 
precipices,  and  extensive  marshes;  and  as  our  travellers 
went  along,  the  hum  of  the  snipe,  the  feeble  but  mournful 
cry  of  the  plover,  and  the  wilder  and  more  piercing  whistle 
of  the  curlew,  still  deepened  the  melancholy  dreariness  of 
their  situation,  and  added  to  their  anxiety  to  press  on 
towards  the  place  of  their  destination. 


4  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  This  is  a  very  lonely  spot,  your  honour,"  said  his  ser- 
vant, whose  name  was  Andrew,  or,  as  he  was  more  fami- 
liarly called,  Andy  Cummiskey. 

"Yes,  but  it's  the  safer,  Andy,"  replied  his  master. 
"  There  is  not  a  human  habitation  within  miles  of  us." 

"  It  doesn't  follow,  sir,  that  this  place,  above  all  others 
in  the  neighbourhood,  is  not,  especially  at  this  hour,  with- 
out some  persons  about  it.     You  know  I'm  no  coward,  sir." 

"  What,  you  scoundrel !  and  do  you  mean  to  hint  that 
7m  oner 

"  Not  at  all,  sir ;  bub  you  see  the  truth  is,  that  this 
being  the  very  hour  for  duck  and  wild-fowl  shootin',  it's 
hard  to  say  where  or  when  a  fellow  might  start  up,  and 
mistake  me  for  a  wild-duck,  and  your  honour  for  a  curlew 
or  a  bittern." 

He  had  no  sooner  spoken  than  the  breeze  started,  as  it 
were  into  more  vigorous  life,  and  ere  the  space  of  many 
minutes  a  dark  impenetrable  mist  or  fog  was  borne  over 
from  the  solitary  hills,  across  the  dreary  level  of  country 
through  which  they  passed,  and  they  felt  themselves  sud- 
denly chilled,  whilst  a  darkness,  almost  palpable,  nearly 
concealed  them  from  each  other.  Now  the  roads  which  we 
have  described,  being  almost  without  exception  iu  remote 
and  unfrequented  parts  of  the  country,  are  for  the  most 
part  covered  over  with  a  thick  sole  of  close  grass,  unless 
where  a  narrow  strip  in  the  centre  shows  that  a  pathway  is 
kept  worn,  and  distinctly  marked  by  the  tread  of  foot 
passengers.  Under  all  these  circumstances,  then,  our 
readers  need  not  feel  surprised  that,  owing  at  once  to  the 
impenetrable  obscurity  around  them,  and  the  noiseless 
nature  of  the  antique  and  grass-covered  pavement  over 
which  they  went,  scarcely  a  distance  of  two  hundred  yards 
had  been  gained  when  they  found,  to  their  dismay,  that 
they  had  lost  their  path,  and  were  in  one  of  the  wild  and 
heathy  stretches  of  unbounded  moor  by  which  they  were 
surrounded. 

"We  have  lost  our  way,  Andy,"  observed  his  master. 
"We've  got  off  that  damned  old  path;  what's  to  be  done? 
where  are  you  ?" 

"  I'm  here,  sir,"  replied  his  man  ;  "  but  as  for  what's  to 
be  done,  it  would  take  Mave  Mullen,  that  sees  the  fairies 


WILLY  REILLY.  5 

and  tells  fortunes,  to  tell  us  that.  For  heaven's  sake,  stay- 
where  you  are,  sir,  till  I  get  up  to  you,  for  if  we  parb  from 
one  another  we're  both  lost.     Where  are  you,  sir  1" 

' '  Curse  you,  sirra,"  replied  his  master,  angrily,  "  is  this 
either  a  time  or  place  to  jest  ml  A  man  that  would  make 
a  jest  in  such  a  situation  as  this  would  dance  on  his  father's 
tombstone." 

"By  my  soul,  sir,  and  I'd  give  a  five-pound  note,  if  I 
had  it,  that  you  and  I  were  dancing  i  Jig  Polthogue'  on 
it  this  minute.  But,  in  the  mane  time,  the  devil  a  one 
o'  me  sees  the  joke  your  honour  speaks  of." 

"  Why,  then,  do  you  ask  me  where  I  am,  when  you 
know  I'm  astray,  that  we're  both  astray,  you  snivelling  old 
whelp  1  By  the  great  and  good  King  William,  I'll  be  lost, 
Andy!" 

"  Well,  and  even  if  you  are,  sir,"  replied  Andy,  who, 
guided  by  his  voice,  had  now  approached  and  joined  him  ; 
"  even  if  you  are,  sir,  I  trust  you'll  bear  it  like  a  Christian 
and  a  Trojan." 

"  Get  out,  you  old  sniveller — what  do  you  mean  by  a 
Trojan  1" 

"  A  Trojan,  sir,  I  was  tould,  is  a  man  that  lives  by  sellin' 
wild-fowl.  They  take  an  oath,  sir,  before  they  be^in  the 
trade,  never  to  die  until  they  can't  help  it." 

"You  mean  to  say,  or  to  hint  at  least,  that  in  addition 
to  our  other  dangers  we  run  the  risk  of  coming  in  contact 
with  poachers." 

"Well,  then,  sir,  if  I  don't  mistake,  they're  out  to-night. 
However,  don't  let  us  alarm  one  another.  God  forbid  that 
I'd  say  a  single  word  to  frighten  you ;  but  still,  you  know 
yourself  that  there's  many  a  man  not  a  hundred  miles  from 
us  that  'ud  be  glad  to  mistake  you  for  a  target,  a  mallard, 
or  any  other  wild- fowl  of  that  description." 

"  In  the  meantime  we  are  both  well  armed,"  replied  his 
master ;  "  but  what  I  fear  most  is  the  risk  we  run  of  falling 
down  precipices,  or  walking  into  lakes  or  quagmires. 
What's  to  be  done  1  This  fog  is  so  cursedly  cold  that  it 
has  chilled  my  very  blood  into  ice." 

"  Our  best  plan,  sir,  is  to  dismount,  and  keep  ourselves 
warm  by  taking  a  pleasant  stroll  across  the  country.  The 
horses  will  take  care  of  themselves.    la  the  meantime  keep 


0  WILLY  REILLY. 

up  your  spirits — we'll  both  want  something  to  console  us  ; 
but  this  I  can  tell  you,  that  devil  a  bit  of  tombstone  ever 
will  go  over  either  of  us,  barrin'  the  sky  in  heaven ;  and 
for  our  coffins,  let  us  pray  to  the  coffiu-maker,  bekaise  you 
see  it's  the  maddhu  ruah*  (the  foxes),  and  ravens,  and  other 
civilised  animals  that  will  coffin  us  both  by  instalments  in 
their  hungry  guts,  until  our  bones  will  be  beautiful  to  look 
at — after  about  six  months'  bleaching — and  a  sharp  eye 
'twould  be  that  'ud  know  the  difference  between  masther 
and  man  then,  I  think." 

We  omitted  to  say,  that  a  piercing  and  most  severe  hoar 
frost  had  set  in  with  the  fog,  and  that  Cunimiskey's  master 
felt  the  immediate  necessity  of  dismounting,  and  walking 
about,  in  order  to  preserve  some  degree  of  animal  heat  in 
his  body. 

"I  cannot  bear  this,  Andy,"  said  he,  "and  these  two 
gallant  animals  will  never  recover  it  after  the  severe  day's 
hunting  they've  had.  Poor  Fiddler  and  Piper,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "  this  has  proved  a  melancholy  day  to  you  both. 
What  is  to  be  done,  Andy?  I  am  scarcely  able  to  stand, 
and  feel  as  if  my  strength  had  utterly  left  me." 

"  What,  sir,"  replied  his  servant,  who  was  certainly 
deeply  attached  to  his  master,  "  is  it  so  bad  with  you  as  all 
that  comes  to?  Sure  I  only  thought  to  amuse  you,  sir. 
Come,  take  courage;  I'll  whistle,  and  maybe  somebody 
will  come  to  our  relief." 

He  accordingly  put  his  two  fingers  into  his  mouth,  and 
uttered  a  loud  and  piercing  whistle,  after  which  both  stood 
still  for  a  time,  but  no  reply  was  given. 

"  Stop,  sir,"  proceeded  Andrew  ;  "  I'll  give  them  another 
touch  that'll  make  them  spake,  if  there's  any  one  near 
enough  to  hear  us." 

He  once  more  repeated  the  whistle,  but  with  two  or 
three  peculiar  shakes  or  variations,  when  almost  instantly 
one  of  a  similar  character  was  given  in  reply. 

"  Thank  God,"  he  exclaimed,  "  be  they  friends  or  foes, 
we  have  human  creatures  not  far  from  us.  Take  courage, 
sir.     How  do  you  feel?' 

"  Frozen    and    chilled    almost    to    death,"    replied   his 

•  Maddhu  ruaJi,  or  red  dog,  the  Irish  name  for  the  fox. 


WILLY  KEILLY.  7 

master;  "I'll  give  fifty  pounds  to  any  man  or  party  of 
men  that  will  conduct  us  safely  home." 

"  I  hope  in  the  Almighty,"  said  Andrew  to  himself,  in 
an  anxious  and  apprehensive  tone  of  voice,  "  that  it's  not 
Parrah  Euah  (Red  Patrick),  the  Red  Rapparee,  that's  in  it, 
and  I'm  afeered  it  is,  for  I  think  I  know  his  whistle. 
There's  not  a  man  in  the  three  baronies  could  give  such  a 
whistle  as  that,  barring  himself.  If  it  is,  the  masther's  a 
gone  man,  and  I'll  not  be  left  behind  to  tell  his  story. 
God  protect  us !" 

"  What  are  you  saying,  Andy  1"  asked  his  master. 
"  What  were  you  muttering  just  now  ?" 

"Nothing,  sir,  nothing;  but  there  can  be  no  harm,  at 
all  events,  to  look  to  our  pistols.  If  there  should  be 
danger,  let  us  sell  our  lives  like  men." 

"  And  so  we  will,  Andy.  The  country  I  know  is  in  a 
disturbed  and  lawless  state,  and  ever  since  that  unfortunate 
affair  of  the  priest,  I  know  I  am  not  popular  with  a  great 
many.    I  hope  we  won't  come  across  his  Rapparee  nephew." 

"  Whether  we  do  or  not,  sir,  let  us  look  to  our  fire-arms. 
Show  me  yours  till  I  settle  the  powdher  in  them.  Why, 
God  bless  me,  how  you  are  tremblin'." 

"  It  is  not  from  fear,  fir,"  replied  the  intrepid  old  man, 
"but  from  cold.  If  anything  should  happen  me,  Andy, 
let  my  daughter  know  that  my  will  is  in  the  oaken 
cabinet;  that  is  to  say,  the  last  I  made.  She  is  my 
heiress — but  that  she  is  by  the  laws  of  the  land.  However, 
as  I  had  disposed  of  some  personal  property  to  other 
persons,  which  disposition  I  have  revoked  in  the  will  I 
speak  of — my  last  as  I  said — I  wish  you  to  let  her  know 
where  she  may  find  it.  Her  mother's  jewels  are  also  in  the 
same  place — but  they,  too,  are  hers  by  right  of  law — her 
mother  bequeathed  them  to  her." 

"  Ah  !  sir,  you  are  right  to  remember  and  think  well  of 
that  daughter.  She  has  been  a  guardian  angel  to  you 
these  five  years.  But  why,  sir,  do  you  give  me  this 
message  ]  Do  you  think  I  won't  sell  my  life  in  defence  of 
yours  ?     If  you  do  you're  mistaken." 

"I  believe  it,  Andrew;  I  believe  it,  Andy,"  said  he 
again,  familiarising  the  word  ;  "  but  if  this  Red  Rapparee 
should  murder  me,    I  don't  wish  you  to  sacrifice  your  life 


8 


WILLY   REILLY. 


on  my  account.  Make  your  escape  if  he  should  be  the 
person  who  is  approaching  us,  and  convey  to  my  daughter 
the  message  I  have  given  you." 

At  this  moment  another  whistle  proceeded  from  a 
quarter  of  the  moor  much  nearer  them,  and  Andy  having 
handed  back  the  pistols  to  his  master,  asked  him  should  he 
return  it. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  the  other,  who  during  all  this  time 
was  pacing  to-and-fro,  in  order  to  keep  himself  from  sink- 
ing; "certainly,  let  us  see  whether  these  persons  are 
friends  or  enemies." 

His  servant  then  replied  to  the  whistle,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  it  was  answered  again,  whilst  at  the  same  time  a 
strong  but  bitter  wind  arose  which  cleared  away  the  mist, 
and  showed  them  with  considerable  distinctness  the 
position  which  they  occupied. 

Within  about  ten  yards  of  them,  to  the  left,  the  very 
direction  in  which  they  had  been  proceeding,  was  a  small 
deep  lake,  or  tarn,  utterly  shoreless,  and  into  which  they 
unquestionably  would  have  walked  and  perished,  as 
neither  of  them  knew  how  to  swim.  The  clearing  away  of 
the  mist,  and  the  light  of  the  stars  (for  the  moou  hail  not 
yet  risen),  enabled  the  parties  to  see  each  oth^r,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  Andrew  and  his  master  were  joined  by 
four  men,  the  principal  person  among  them  being  the 
identical  individual  whom  they  both  had  dreaded — the  Red 
Rapparee. 

"Master,"  said  Cummiskey,  in  a  whisper  on  seeing 
them  approach,  "  we  must  fight  for  it,  I'm  at'eered,  but  let 
us  not  be  rash ;  there  may  be  a  friend  or  two  among  them, 
and  it  is  better  to  come  off  peaceably  if  we  can." 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  replied  his  master.  "  There  is  no 
use  in  shedding  unnecessary  blood ;  but,  in  any  event,  let 
us  not  permit  them  to  disarm  us,  should  they  insist  on 
doing  so.  They  know  I  never  go  three  yards  from  my 
hall-door  without  arms,  and  it  is  not  improbable  they  may 
make  a  point  of  taking  them  from  us.  I,  however,  for  one, 
will  not  trust  to  their  promises,  for  I  know  their  treachery, 
as  I  do  their  cowardice,  when  their  numbers  are  but  few, 
and  an  armed  opponent  or  two  before  them,  determined  to 
give  battle.     Stand,  therefore,  by  me,  Andy,  and,  by  King 


WILLY  REILLY.  9 

William,  should  they  have  recourse  to  violence,  we  shall  let 
them  see  and  feel  too  that  we  are  not  unprepared." 

"  I  have  but  one  life,  sir,"  replied  his  faithful  follower, 
"  it  was  spent — at  least  its  best  days  were — in  your  service, 
and  sooner  than  any  danger  should  come  to  you,  it  will  be 
lost  in  your  defence.  If  it  was  only  for  the  sake  of  her, 
that  is  not  here,  the  Cooleen  Bawn,  I  would  do  it." 

"  Who  goes  there  ?'  asked  a  deep  and  powerful  voice, 
when  the  parties  had  come  within  about  twenty  yards  of 
each  other. 

"  By  the  powers  1"  exclaimed  Andrew,  in  a  whisper,  "  it's 
himself — the  Red  Rapparee !" 

"  We  are  friends,"  he  replied,  "  and  have  lost  our  way." 

The  other  party  approached,  and,  on  joining  our 
travellers,  the  Rapparee  started — exclaiming,  "  What, 
noble  Squire,  is  it  possible  that  this  is  you  ?  Hut !  it  can't 
be — let  me  look  at  you  closer,  till  I  make  sure  of  you." 

"Keep  your  distance,  sir,"  replied  the  old  man,  with 
courage  and  dignity  ;  "  keep  your  distance  ;  you  see  that  I 
and  my  servant  are  both  well  armed,  and  determined  to 
defend  ourselves  against  violence." 

An  ominous  and  ferocious  glance  passed  from  the  Rapparee 
to  his  comrades,  who,  however,  said  nothing,  but  seemed  to 
be  resolved  to  guide  themselves  altogether  by  his  conduct. 
The  Red  Rapparee  was  a  huge  man  of  about  forty,  and  the 
epithet  of  "Red"  had  been  given  to  him  in  consequence  of 
the  colour  of  his  hair.  In  expression  his  countenance  was 
by  no  means  unhandsome,  being  florid  and  symmetrical, 
but  hard,  and  with  scarcely  any  trace  of  feeling.  His 
brows  were  far  asunder,  arguing  ingenuity  and  invention, 
but  his  eyes,  which  were  small  and  treacherous,  glared — ■ 
whenever  he  became  excited — with  the  ferocity  of  an 
enraged  tiger.  His  shoulders  were  broad,  his  chest  deep 
and  square,  his  arms  long  and  powerful,  but  his  lower 
limbs  were  somewhat  light  in  proportion  to  the  great  size 
of  his  upper  figure.  This,  however,  is  generally  the  case 
when  a  man  combines  in  his  own  person  the  united  quali- 
ties of  activity  and  strength.  Even  at  the  period  we  are 
describing,  when  this  once  celebrated  character  was  forty 
years  of  age,  it  was  well  known  that  in  fleetness  of  foot 
there  was  no  man  in  the  province  able  to  compete  with 


10  WILLY  REILLY. 

him.  la  athletic  exercises  that  required  strength  and  skill, 
he  never  had  a  rival,  but  one — with  whom  the  reader  will 
soon  be  made  acquainted.  He  was  wrapped  loosely  in  a 
grey  frieze  big-coat,  or  cothamore,  as  it  is  called  in  Irish — 
wore  a  hat  of  two  colours,  and  so  pliant  in  texture  that  he 
could  at  any  time  turn  it  inside  out.  His  coat  was — as 
indeed  were  all  his  clothes — made  upon  the  same  principle, 
so  that  when  hard  pressed  by  the  authorities,  he  could  in  a 
minute  or  two  transmute  himself  into  the  appearance  of  a 
man  very  different  from  the  individual  described  to  them. 
Indeed  he  was  such  a  perfect  Proteus,  that  no  vigilance  of 
the  Executive  was  ever  a  match  for  his  versatility  of 
appearance,  swiftness  of  foot,  and  caution.  These  frequent 
defeats  of  the  authorities  of  that  day  made  him  extremely 
popular  with  the  people,  who  were  always  ready  to  afford 
him  shelter  and  means  of  concealment,  in  return  for  which 
he  assisted  them  with  food,  money,  and  the  spoils  of  his 
predatory  life.  This,  indeed,  was  the  sagacious  principle  of 
the  Irish  Robbers  and  Rapparees  from  the  beginning — to 
rob  from  the  rich  arid  give  to  the  poor  being  their  motto. 

The  persons  who  accompanied  him  on  this  occasion  were 
three  of  his  own  gang,  who  usually  constituted  his  body- 
guard, and  acted  as  videttes,  either  for  his  protection  or  for 
the  purpose  of  bringing  him  information  of  such  travellers 
as  from  their  known  wealth  or  external  appearance,  might 
be  supposed  worth  attacking.  They  were  well-made, 
active,  and  athletic  men,  in  whom  it  would  not  be  easy  to 
recognise  any  particular  character  at  variance  with  that  of 
the  peasantry  around  them.  It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that 
they  were  all  armed.  Having  satisfied  himself  as  to  the 
identity  of  master  and  man,  with  a  glance  at  his  companions, 
the  Rapparee  said  : — 

11  What  on  earth  brought  you  and  Andy  Cummiskey 
here,  noble  squire  1  Oh !  you  lost  your  way,  Andy  says. 
Well  now,"  he  proceeded,  "you  know  I  have  been  many  a 
day  and  night  on  the  look-out  for  you;  aye,  and  could 
have  put  daylight  through  you,  many  and  many  a  time ; 
and  what  do  you  think  prevented  me  ?" 

"Fear  of  God,  or  of  the  gallows,  I  hope,"  replied  the 
intrepid  old  man. 

"Well,"  returned  the  Rapparee,  with  a  smile  of  scorn ; 


WILLY  REILLY.  11 

"  I'm  not  a  man — as  I  suppose  you  may  know — that  ever 
feared  either  of  them  much — God  forgive  me  for  the  one, 
I  don't  ask  his  forgiveness  for  the  other.  No,  Squire 
Folliard,  it  was  the  goodness,  the  kindness,  the  generosity, 
and  the  charity  of  the  Cooleen  Bawn,  your  lovely  daughter, 
that  held  my  hand.  You  persecuted  my  old  uncle,  the 
priest,  and  you  would  a'  hanged  him  too,  for  merely  marry- 
in'  a  Protestant  and  a  Catholic  together.  Well,  sir,  your 
fair  daughter,  and  her  good  mother,  that's  now  in  heaven, 
I  hope — went  up  to  Dublin  to  the  Lord  Lieutenant,  and 
before  him  the  Cooleen  Bawn  went  on  her  two  knees  and 
begged  my  uncle's  life,  and  got  it ;  for  the  Lord  Lieutenant 
said  that  no  one  could  deny  her  anything.  Now,  sir,  for 
her  sake,  go  home  in  peace.     Boys,  get  their  horses." 

Andy  Cummiskey  would  have  looked  upon  ail  this  as 
manly  and  generous,  but  he  could  not  help  observing  a 
peculiar  and  rather  sinister  meaning  in  the  look  which 
the  Kapparee  turned  on  his  companions  as  he  spoke.  He 
had  often  heard,  too,  of  his  treacherous  disposition  and  his 
unrelenting  cruelty  whenever  he  entertained  a  feeling  of 
vengeance.  In  his  present  position,  however,  all  he  could 
do  was  to  stand  on  his  guard ;  and  with  this  impression 
strong  upon  him  he  resolved  to  put  no  confidence  in  the 
words  of  the  Rapparee.  In  a  few  minutes  the  horses  were 
brought  up,  and  Randy  (Randal)  Ruah  having  wiped  Mr. 
Folliard's  saddle — for  such  was  his  name — with  the  skirt 
of  his  cothamore,  and  removed  the  hoar  frost  or  rime  which 
had  gathered  on  it,  he  brought  the  animal  over  to  him,  and 
said  with  a  kind  of  rude  courtesy  : — 

"  Come,  sir,  trust  me ;  I  will  help  you  to  your  saddle." 

"You  have  not  the  reputation  of  being  trustworthy," 
replied  Mr.  Folliard  ;  "keep  back,  sir,  at  your  peril;  I  will 
not  trust  you.     My  own  servant  will  assist  me." 

This  seemed  precisely  the  arrangement  which  the  Rap- 
paree  and  his  men  had  contemplated.  The  squire,  in 
mounting,  was  obliged,  as  every  man  is,  to  use  both  his 
hands,  as  was  his  servant  also,  while  assisting  him.  They 
consequently  put  up  their  pistols  until  they  should  get  into 
the  saddles,  and,  almost  In  an  instant,  found  themselves 
disarmed,  and  prisoners  in  the  hands  of  these  lawless  and 
unscrupulous  men. 


12  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  Now,  Squire  Folliard,"  exclaimed  the  Rapparee,  "  see 
what  it  is  not  to  trust  an  honest  man  ;  had  you  done  so, 
not  a  hair  of  your  head  would  be  injured.  As  it  is,  I'll 
give  you  five  minutes  to  do  three  things ;  remember  my 
uncle,  the  priest,  that  you  transported." 

"  He  acted  most  illegally,  sir,"  replied  the  old  man,  indig- 
nantly;  "and  in  my  opinion,  I  say  that,  in  consequence  of 
his  conduct,  the  country  had  a  good  riddance  of  him.  I 
only  wish  I  could  send  you  after  him  ;  perhaps  I  shall  do 
so  yet.  I  believe  in  Providence,  sirra,  and  that  God  can 
protect  me  from  your  violence  even  here." 

"In  the  next  place,"  proceeded  the  Rapparee,  "think  of 
your  daughter,  that  you  will  never  see  again,  either  in  this 
world  or  the  next." 

"  I  know  I  am  unworthy  of  having  such  an  angel," 
replied  the  old  man,  "but  unless  you  were  a  cruel  and  a 
heartless  ruffian,  you  would  not  at  this  moment  mention 
her,  or  bring  the  thoughts  of  her  to  my  recollection." 

"  In  the  last  place,"  continued  the  other,  "  if  you  have 
anything  to  say  in  the  shape  of  a  prayer,  say  it,  for  in  five 
minutes'  time  there  will  be  a  bullet  through  your  heart, 
and  in  five  more  you  will  be  snug  and  warm  at  the  bottom 
of  the  loch  there  below — that's  your  doom." 

"  O'Donuel,"  said  Andy,  "  think  that  there's  a  God 
above  you.  Surely  you  wouldn't  murdher  this  ould  man 
and  make  the  sowl  within  your  body  redder — if  the  thing's 
possible — than  the  head  that's  on  the  top  of  it,  though  in 
throth  I  don't  think  it's  by  way  of  ornament  it's  there 
either.  Come,  come,  Randal  my  man,  this  is  all  feasthulagh 
(nonsense).  You  only  want  to  frighten  the  gentleman. 
As  for  your  uncle,  man  alive,  all  I  can  say  is,  that  he  was 
a  friend  to  your  family,  and  to  religion  too,  that  sent  him 
on  his  travels." 

"  Take  off  your  gallowses"  (braces),  said  the  Rapparee, 
"take  them  off  a  couple  of  you — for,  by  all  the  powers  of 
darkness,  they'll  both  go  to  the  bottom  of  the  loch 
together,  back  to  back.     Down  you'll  go,  Andy." 

"  By  my  soul,  then,"  replied  the  unflinching  servant, 
*'  if  we  go  down  you'll  go  up  ;  and  we  have  those  belongin' 
to  us  that  will  see  you  kiss  the  hangman  yet.  Yerra,  now, 
above  all  words  in  the  alphabet  what  could  put  a  gallows 


WILLV    RE1LLY.  IS 

into  your  mouth?  Faith,  Randal,  it's  about  your  neck 
it'll  go,  and  you'll  put  out  your  tongue  at  the  daicent 
people  that  will  attend  your  own  funeral  yet — that  is,  if 
you  don't  let  us  off." 

"  Put  them  both  to  their  knees,"  said  the  Rapparee,  in  a 
voice  of  thunder,  "  to  their  knees  with  them.  I'll  take  the 
masther,  and,  Kineely,  do  you  take  the  man." 

The  companions  of  the  Rapparee  could  not  avoid 
laughing  at  the  comic  courage  displayed  by  Cummiskey, 
and  were  about  to  intercede  for  him,  when  O'Donnel, 
which  was  his  name,  stamped  with  fury  on  the  ground, 
and  asked  them  if  they  dared  to  disobey  him.  This 
sobered  them  at  once,  and  in  less  than  a  minute,  Mr. 
Folliard  and  Andy  were  placed  upon  their  knees,  to  await 
the  terrific  sentence  which  was  about  to  be  executed  on 
them,  in  that  wild  and  lonely  moor,  and  under  such 
appalling  circumstances.  When  placed  in  the  desired  pos- 
ture, to  ask  that  mercy  from  God  which  they  were  not  about 
to  experience  at  the  hands  of  man,  Squire  Folliard  spoke  : — 

"  Red  Rapparee,"  said  he,  "  it  is  not  that  I  am  afraid  of 
death  as  such,  but  I  feel  that  I  am  not  prepared  to  die. 
Suffer  my  servant  and  myself  to  go  home  without  harm, 
and  I  shall  engage  not  only  to  get  you  a  pardon  from  the 
Government  of  the  country,  but  I  shall  furnish  you  with 
money  either  to  take  you  to  some  useful  calling,  or  to  emi- 
grate to  some  foreign  country,  where  nobody  will  know  of 
your  misdeeds,  or  the  life  you  have  led  here." 

"Randal,  my  man,"  added  Andy,  "listen  to  what  the 
gentleman  says,  and  you  may  escape  what  you  know  yet. 
As  for  my  masther,  Randal,  let  him  pass,  and  take  me  in 
his  place.  I  may  as  well  die  now,  maybe,  as  another  time. 
I  was  an  honest,  faithful  servant,  at  all  times.  I  have 
neither  chick  nor  child  to  cry  for  me.  No  wife,  thank 
God,  to  break  my  heart  afther.  My  conscience  is  light 
and  airy,  like  a  beggarman's  blanket,  as  they  say ;  and, 
barrin'  that  I  once  got  drunk  wid  your  uncle  in  Moll 
Flanagan's  sheebeen  house,  I  don't  know  that  I  have  much 
to  trouble  me.  Spare  him,  then,  and  take  me,  if  it  must 
come  to  that.  He  has  the  Cooleen  Bawn  to  think  for.  Do 
you  think  of  her,  too  ;  and  remember  that  it  was  she  who 
saved  your  uncle  from  the  gallows." 


14:  WILLY  REILLY. 

This  unlucky  allusion  only  deepened  the  vengeance  of 
the  Red  Rapparee,  who  looked  to  the  priming  of  his  gun, 
and  was  in  the  act  of  preparing  to  perpetrate  this  most 
inhuman  and  awful  murder,  when  an  interruption  took 
place  for  which  neither  party  was  prepared. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  within  about  eight  or  ten  yards 
of  where  they  stood  there  existed  the  walls  and  a  portion 
of  the  arched  roof  of  one  of  those  old  ecclesiastical  ruins, 
which  our  antiquarians  denominate  Cyclopean,  like  lucus  a 
non  lucendo,  because  scarcely  a  dozen  men  could  kneel  in 
them.  Over  this  sad  ruin  was  what  sportsmen  term 
"  a  pass"  for  duck  and  widgeon,  and,  aided  by  the  shelter 
of  the  building,  any  persons  who  stationed  themselves 
there  could  certainly  commit  great  havoc  among  the  wild- 
fowl in  question.  The  Red  Rapparee,  then,  had  his  gun  in 
his  hand,  and  was  in  the  very  act  of  adjusting  it  to  his 
shoulder,  when  a  powerful  young  man  sprung  forward,  and 
dashing  it  aside,  exclaimed  :— 

"  What  is  this,  Randal  ?  Is  it  a  double  murder  you  are 
about  to  execute,  you  inhuman  ruffian  V 

The  Rapparee  glared  at  him,  but  with  a  quailing  and 
subdued,  yet  sullen  and  vindictive  expression. 

"  Stand  up,  sir,"  proceeded  this  daring  and  animated 
young  man,  addressing  Mr.  Folliard;  "and  you,  Cumrnis- 
key,  get  to  your  legs.  No  person  shall  dare  to  injure 
either  of  you  while  I  am  here.  O'Donnel— stain  and 
disgrace  to  a  noble  name — begone,  you  and  your  ruffians. 
I  know  the  cause  of  your  enmity  against  this  gentleman ; 
and  I  tell  you  now,  that  if  you  were  as  ready  to  sustain 
your  religion  as  you  are  to  disgrace  it  by  your  conduct, 
you  would  not  become  a  curse  to  it  and  the  country,  nor 
give  promise  of  feeding  a  hungry  gallows  some  day,  as  you 
and  your  accomplices  will  do." 

Whilst  the  young  stranger  addressed  these  miscreants 
with  such  energy  and  determination,  Mr.  Folliard,  who,  as 
well  as  his  servant,  had  now  got  to  his  legs,  asked  the 
latter  in  a  whisper  who  he  was. 

"By  all  that's  happy,  sir,"  he  replied,  "it's  himself, 
the  only  man  living  that  the  Red  Rapparee  is  afraid  of ; 
it's  '  Willy  Reilly.' "~ 


WILLY  REILLY.  15 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE   COOLEEN  BAWN. 

tHE  old  man  became  very  little  wiser  by  the  informa- 
tion of  bis  servant,  and  said  in  reply — "I  hope, 
Andy,  he's  not  a  Papist;"  but  checking  the  un- 
worthy prejudice — and  in  him  such  prejudices  were 
singularly  strong  in  words,  although  often  feeble  in  fact — 
he  added,  "  it  matters  not — we  owe  our  lives  to  him — the 
deepest  and  most  important  obligation  that  one  man  can 
owe  to  another.  I  am,  however,  scarcely  able  to  stand ; 
I  feel  benumbed  and  exhausted,  and  wish  to  get  home  as 
soon  as  possible." 

"Mr.  Reilly,"  said  Andy,  "this  gentleman  is  very  weak 
and  ill ;  and  as  you  have  acted  so  much  like  a  brave  man 
and  a  gentleman,  maybe  you'd  have  no  objection  to  see  us 
safe  home." 

"  It  is  my  intention  to  do  so,"  replied  Reilly.  "  I  could 
not  for  a  moment  think  of  leaving  either  him  or  you  to 
the  mercy  of  this  treacherous  man,  who  dishonours  a 
noble  name."  Randal,  he  proceeded,  addressing  the  Rap- 
paree,  "mark  my  words! — if  but  a  single  hair  of  this 
gentleman's  head,  or  of  any  one  belonging  to  him,  is  ever 
injured  by  you  or  your  gang,  I  swear  that  you  and  they  will 
swing,  each  of  you,  from  as  many  gibbets,  as  soon  as  the 
course  of  the  law  can  reach  you.  You  know  me,  sir,  and 
my  influence  over  those  who  protect  you. — As  for  you, 
Fergus,"  he  added,  addressing  one  of  the  Rapparee's 
followers,  "  you  are,  thank  G-od  !  the  only  one  of  my 
blood  who  has  ever  disgraced  it,  by  leading  such  a  lawless 
and  guilty  life.  Be  advised  by  me — leave  that  man  of 
treachery,  rapine,  and  murder — abandon  him  and  reform 
your  life — and  if  you  are  disposed  to  become  a  good  and 
an  industrious  member  of  society,  go  to  some  other 
country,  where  the  disgrace  you  have  incurred  in  this  may 
not  follow  you.  Be  advised  by  me,  and  you  shall  not 
want  the  means  of  emigrating.  Now  begone ;  and  think, 
each  of  you,  of  what  I  have  said." 


16  WILLY   REILLY. 

The  Eapparee  glanced  at  the  noble-looking  young 
fellow  with  the  vindictive  ferocity  of  an  enraged  bull,  who 
feels  a  disposition  to  injure  you,  but  is  restrained  by 
terror ;  or,  which  is  quite  as  appropriate,  a  cowardly  but 
vindictive  mastiff,  who  eyes  you  askance,  growls,  shows 
his  teeth,  but  has  not  the  courage  to  attack  you. 

"  Do  not  look  at  me  so,  sir,"  said  Eeilly,  "  you  know  I 
fear  you  not." 

"But  in  the  meantime,"  replied  the  Eapparee,  "what's 
to  prevent  me  from  putting  a  bullet  into  you  this  moment, 
if  I  wish  to  doit  V 

"  There  are  ten  thousand  reasons  against  it,"  returned 
Eeilly.  "  If  you  did  so,  in  less  than  twenty-four  hours  you 
would  find  yourself  in  Sligo  gaol — or,  to  come  nearer  the 
truth,  in  less  than  five  minutes  you  would  find  yourself  in 
hell." 

"  Well,  now,  suppose  I  should  make  the  trial,"  said  the 
Eapparee.  "You  don't  know,  Mr.  Eeilly,  how  you  have 
crossed  me  to-night.  Suppose  now  I  should  try— and 
suppose,  too,  that  not  one  of  you  three  should  leave  the 
spot  you  stand  on  only  as  corpses — wouldn't  I  have  the 
advantage  of  you  then  1" 

Eeilly  turned  towards  the  ruined  chapel,  and  simply 
raising  his  right  hand,  about  eight  or  ten  persons  made 
their  appearance;  but,  restrained  by  a  signal  from  him, 
they  did  not  advance. 

"That  will  do,"  said  he.— "Now,  Eandal,  I  hope  you 
understand  your  position.  D&  not  provoke  me  again  ;  foi 
if  you  do  I  will  surround  you  with  toils  from  which  you 
could  as  soon  change  your  fierce  and  brutal  nature  as. 
escape.  Yes,  and  I  will  take  you  in  the  midst  of  youl 
ruffian  guards,  and  in  the  deepest  of  your  fastnesses,  if  ever 
you  provoke  me  as  you  have  done  on  other  occasions,  or  if 
you  ever  injure  this  gentleman  or  any  individual  of  his 
family. — Come,  sir,"  he  proceeded,  addressing  the  old  man, 
"you  are  now  mounted — my  horse  is  in  this  old  ruin — and 
in  a  moment  I  shall  be  ready  to  accompany  you." 

Eeilly  and  his  companions  joined  our  travellers,  one  of 
the  former  having  offered  the  old  squire  a  large  frieze  great- 
coat, which  he  gladly  accepted,  and  having  thus  formed  a 
guard  of  safety  for  him  and  his  faithful  attendant,  they 


WILLY  REILLY.  17 

regained  the  old  road  we  have  described,  and  resumed 
their  journey. 

When  they  had  gone,  the  Rapparee  and  his  companions 
looked  after  them  with  blank  faces  for  some  minutes. 

"  Well,"  said  their  leader,  "  Reilly  has  knocked  up  our 
game  for  this  night.  Only  for  him  I'd  have  had  a  full  and 
sweet  revenge.  However,  never  mind,  it'll  go  hard  with 
me,  or  I'll  have  it  yet.  la  the  mane  time  it  won't  be  often 
that  such  another  opportunity  will  come  in  our  way." 

"  Well,  now  that  it  is  over,  what  was  your  intention,  Ran- 
dal?1' asked  the  person  to  whom  Reilly  had  addressed  himself. 

"  Why,"  replied  the  miscreant,  "  after  the  deed  was  done, 
what  was  to  prevent  us  from  robbing  the  house  to-night, 
and  taking  away  his  daughter  to  the  mountains  1  I  have 
long  had  my  eye  on  her,  I  can  tell  you,  and  it'll  cost  me  a 
fall,  or  I'll  have  her  yet," 

"  You  had  better,"  replied  Fergus  Reilly,  for  such  was 
his  name,  "  neither  make  nor  meddle  with  that  family  after 
this  night.  If  you  do,  that  terrible  relation  of  mine  will 
hang  you  like  a  dog." 

11  How  will  he  hang  me  like  a  dog  V  asked  the  Rapparee, 
knitting  his  shaggy  eye-brows,  and  turning  upon  him  a 
fierce  and  gloomy  look. 

"  Why  now,  Randal,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do."  replied 
the  other,  "  that  if  he  only  raised  his  finger  against  you  in 
the  country,  the  very  people  that  harbour  both  you  and  us 
would  betray  us,  aye,  seize  us,  and  bind  us  hand  and  foot, 
like  common  thieves,  and  give  us  over  to  the  authorities. 
But  as  for  himself,  I  believe  you  have  sense  enough  to  let 
him  alone.  When  you  took  away  Mary  Traynor,  and 
nearly  kilt  her  brother  the  young  priest— you  know  they 
were  Reilly's  tenants — I  needn't  tell  you  what  happened : 
in  four  hours'  time  he  had  the  country  up,  followed  you 
and  your  party — I  wasn't  with  you  then,  but  you  know  it's 
truth  I'm  spakin' — and  when  he  had  five  to  one  against 
you,  didn't  he  make  them  stand  aside  until  he  and  you 
should  decide  it  between  you  1  Aye,  and  you  know  he  could 
a'  brought  home  every  man  of  you  tied  neck  and  heels,  and 
would  too,  only  that  there  was  a  large  reward  offered  for 
the  takin'  of  you  livin'  or  dead,  and  he  scorned  to  have  any 
hand  in  it  on  that  account." 


18  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  It  was  by  a  chance  blow  he  hit  me,"  said  the  Rapparee 
— "  by  a  chance  blow." 

"By  a  couple  dozen  chance  blows,"  replied  the  other  ; 
"  you  know  he  knocked  you  down  as  fast  as  ever  you  got 
up — I  lave  it  to  the  boys  here  that  wor  present." 

"There's  no  use  in  denyin'  it,  Randal,"  they  replied, 
"you  hadn't  a  chance  wid  him." 

"  Well,  at  all  events,"  observed  the  Rapparee,  "  if  he  did 
beat  me,  he's  the  only  man  in  the  country  able  to  do  it;  but 
it's  not  over,  curse  him — 111  have  another  trial  with  him 
yet." 

"  If  you  take  my  advice,"  replied  Reilly,  "  you'll  neither 
make  nor  meddle  with  him.  He's  the  head  o'  the  Catholics 
in  this  part  of  the  country,  and  you  know  that;  aye,  and 
he's  their  friend,  and  uses  the  friendship  that  the  Protes- 
tants have  towards  him  for  their  advantage,  wherever  he 
can.  The  man  that  would  injure  Willy  Reilly  is  an  enemy 
to  our  religion,  as  well  as  to  every  thing  that's  good  and 
generous ;  and  mark  me,  Randal,  if  ever  you  cross  him  in 
what  he  warned  you  against  this  very  night,  I'll  hang  you 
myself,  if  there  wasn't  another  livin'  man  to  do  it,  and  to 
the  back  o'  that  again  I  say  you  must  shed  no  blood  so  long 
as  I'm  with  you." 

"  That  won't  be  long,  then,"  replied  the  Rapparee,  pulling 
out  a  purse,  "  there's  twenty  guineas  for  you,  and  go  about 
your  business ;  but  take  care,  no  treachery." 

"No,"  replied  the  other,  "I'll  have  none  of  your  money  ; 
there's  blood  on  it.  God  forgive  me  for  ever  joinin'  you. 
When  I  want  money  I  can  get  it ;  as  for  treachery,  there's 
none  of  it  in  my  veins;  good  night,  and  remember  my 
words/"' 

Having  thus  spoken,'  he  took  his  way  along  the  same 
road  by  which  the  old  squire  and  his  party  went. 

"  That  fellow  will  betray  us,"  said  the  Rapparee. 

"  No,"  replied  his  companions,  firmly,  "  there  never  was 
treachery  in  his  part  of  the  family ;  he  is  not  come  from 
any  of  the  Queen's  O'Reillys.*  We  wish  you  were  as  sure  of 
every  man  you  have  as  you  may  be  of  him." 

*  Catholic  families  who  were  faithful  and  loyal  to  Queen  Elizabeth 
during  her  wars  in  Ireland,  were  stigmatised  by  the  nickname  of  the 


WILLY  REILLY.  10 

"  Well  now,"  observed  their  leader,  "  a  thought  strikes 
me ;  this  ould  squire  will  be  half  dead  all  night.  At  any 
rate  he'll  sleep  like  a  top.  Wouldn't  it  be  a  good  opportu- 
nity to  attack  the  house — aise  him  of  his  money,  for  he's  as 
rich  as  a  Jew — and  take  away  the  Cooleen  Bawn  ?  We'll 
call  at  Shane  Bearna's*  stables  on  our  way  and  bring  the 
other  boys  along  wid  us.     What  do  you  say  V* 

"  Why,  that  you'll  hang  yourself,  and  every  man  of  us." 

"Nonsense,  you  cowardly  dogs,"  replied  their  leader, 
indignantly  ;   "  can't  we  lave  the  country  ]" 

"Well,  if  you're  bent  on  it,"  replied  his  followers,  "we 
won't  be  your  hindrance." 

"  We  can  break  up,  and  be  off  to  America,"  he  added. 

"  But  what  will  you  do  with  the  Cooleen  Bawn,  if  you 
take  her  T  they  asked. 

"Why,  lave  her  behind  us,  afther  showin'  the  purty 
creature  the  inside  of  Shane  Bearna's  stables.  She'll  be 
able  to  find  her  way  back  to  her  father's,  never  fear. 
Comje,  boys,  now  or  never.  To  say  the  truth,  the  sooner 
we  get  out  of  the  country,  at  all  events,  the  better." 

The  Kapparee  and  his  men  had  moved  up  to  the  door  of 
the  old  chapel  already  alluded  to,  whilst  this  conversation 
went  on ;  and  now  that  their  dreadful  project  had  been 
determined  on,  they  took  a  short  cut  across  the  moors,  in 
order  to  procure  additional  assistance  for  its  accomplishment. 

No  sooner  had  they  gone,  however,  than  an  individual, 
who  had  been  concealed  in  the  darkness  within,  came 
stealthily  to  the  door,  and  peeping  cautiously  out,  at  length 
advanced    a    few    steps   and   looked   timidly   about   him. 

Queen's  friends,  to  distinguish  them  from  others  of  the  same  name 
who  had  opposed  her,  on  behalf  of  their  religion,  in  the  wars  which 
desolated  Ireland  during  her  reign — a  portion  of  the  family  of  which 
we  write  were  on  this  account  designated  as  the  Queen's  O'Reillys. 

*  Shane  Bearna  was  a  celebrated  R  apparee,  who,  among  his  other 
exploits,  figured  principally  as  a  horse-stealer.  He  kept  the  stolen 
animals  concealed  in  remote  mountain  caves,  where  he  trimmed  and 
iyed  them  in  such  a  way  as  made  it  impossible  to  recognise  them. 
These  caves  are  curiosities  at  the  present  day,  and  are  now  known 
as  Shane  Bearna's  Stables.  He  was  a  chief  in  the  formidable  gaDg  of 
the  celebrated  Redmond  O'Hanlon.  It  is  said  of  him  that  he  was 
called  Bearna  because  he  never  had  any  teeth  ;  but  tradition  tells 
us  that  he  could,  notwithstanding,  bite  a  piece  out  of  a  thin  plate  of 
iron  with  as  much  ease  as  if  it  were  gingerbread. 


20  WILLY  REILLY. 

Perceiving  that  the  coast  was  clear,  he  placed  himself  under 
the  shadow  of  the  old  walls — for  there  was  now  sufficient 
light  to  cast  a  shadow  from  any  prominent  object ;  and  from 
thence  having  observed  the  direction  which  the  Rapparee 
and  his  men  took,  without  any  risk  of  being  seen  himself, 
he  appeared  satisfied.  The  name  of  this  individual — who, 
although  shrewd  and  cunning  in  many  things,  was  never- 
theless deficient  in  reason — or  rather  the  name  by  which  he 
generally  went,  was  Tom  Soeeple,  a  soubriquet  given  to  him 
on  account  of  a  predominant  idea  which  characterized  and 
influenced  his  whole  conversation.  The  great  delight  of 
this  poor  creature  was  to  be  considered  the  tallest  individual 
in  the  kingdom,  and  indeed  nothing  could  be  more  amusing 
than  to  witness  the  manner  in  which  he  held  up  his  head 
while  he  walked  or  sat  or  stood.  In  fact  his  walk  was  a 
complete  strut,  to  which  the  pride,  arising  from  the  con- 
sciousness of,  or  rather  the  belief  in,  his  extraordinary 
height  gave  an  extremely  ludicrous  appearance.  Poor  Tom 
was  about  five  feet  nine  in  height,  but  imagined  himself  to 
be  at  least  a  foot  higher.  His  whole  family  were  certa'inly 
tall,  and  one  of  the  greatest  calamities  of  the  poor  fellow's 
life  was  a  bitter  reflection  that  he  himself  was  by  several, 
inches  the  lowest  of  his  race.  This  was  the  only  exception 
he  made  with  respect  to  height,  bub  so  deeply  did  it  affect 
him,  that  he  could  scarcely  ever  allude  to  it  without  shed- 
ding tears.  The  life  he  led  was  similar  in  most  respects  to 
that  of  his  unhappy  class.  He  wandered  about  througli 
the  country,  stopping  now  at  one  farmer's  house,  and  now 
at  another's,  where  he  always  experienced  a  kind  reception, 
because  he  was  not  only  amusing  and  inoffensive,  but  cap- 
able of  making  himself  useful  as  a  messenger  and  drudge. 
He  was  never  guilty  of  a  dishonest  act,  nor  ever  known  to 
commit  a  breach  of  trust ;  and  as  a  quick  messenger,  his 
extraordinary  speed  of  foot  rendered  him  unrivalled.  His 
great  delight,  however,  was  to  attend  sportsmen,  to  whom 
he  was  invaluable  as  a  guide  and  director.  Such  was  his 
wind  and  speed  of  foot,  that,  aided  by  his  knowledge  of 
what  is  termed  the  lie  of  the  country  he  was  able  to  keep 
up  with  any  pack  of  hounds  that  ever  went  out.  As  a  soho 
man  he  was  unrivalled.  The  form  of  every  hare  for  miles 
about   was   known   to   him,  and   if   a   fox   or  a  covey  of 


WILLY  REILLY.  21 

partridges  were  to  be  found  at  all,  he  was  your  man.  In 
wild-fowl  shooting  he  was  infallible.  No  pass  of  duck, 
widgeon,  barnacle,  or  curlew,  was  unknown  to  him.  In 
fact,  his  principal  delight  was  to  attend  the  gentry  of  the 
country  to  the  field,  either  with  harrier,  foxhound,  or  setter. 
No  coursing  match  went  right  if  Tom  were  not  present ; 
and  as  for  night  shooting,  his  eye  and  ear  were  such  as,  for 
accuracy  of  observation,  few  have  ever  witnessed.  It  is 
true  he  could  subsist  a  long  time  without  food,  but,  like  the 
renowned  Captain  Dalgetty,  when  an  abundance  of  it 
happened  to  be  placed  before  him,  he  displayed  the  most 
indefensible  ignorance  as  to  all  knowledge  of  the  period 
when  he  ought  to  stop ;  considering  it  his  bounden  duty  on 
all  occasions  to  clear  off  whatever  was  set  before  him — a  feat 
which  he  always  accomplished  with  the  most  signal  success. 

"Aha!"  exclaimed  Tom,  "  dat  Red  Rapparee  is  tall  man, 
but  not  tall  as  Tom ;  him  no  steeple  like  Tom ;  but  him 
rogue  and  murderer,  an'  Tom  honest ;  him  won't  carry  off 
Cooleen  Baton  dough,  nor  rob  her  fadher  ayder.  Come, 
Tom,  Steeple  Tom,  out  with  your  two  legs,  one  afore 
toder,  and  put  Rapparee's  nose  out  o'  joint.  Cooleen  Bawn 
dat's  good  to  everybody,  Catlicks  (Catholics)  an'  all,  an' 
often  ordered  Tom  many  a  bully  dinner.  Hicko !  hicko ! 
be  de  bones  of  Peter  White, — off  I  go  !" 

Tom,  like  many  other  individuals  of  his  description,  was 
never  able  to  get  over  the  language  of  childhood — a  char- 
acteristic which  is  often  appended  to  the  want  of  reason, 
and  from  which,  we  presume,  the  term  "innocent"  has 
been  applied  in  an  especial  manner  to  those  who  are  re- 
markable for  the  same  defect. 

Having  uttered  the  words  we  have  just  recited,  he 
started  off  at  a  gait,  peculiar  to  fools,  which  is  known  by 
the  name  of  "  a  sling  trot,"  and  after  getting  out  upon  the 
old  road  he  turned  himself  in  the  direction  which  Willy 
Eeilly  and  his  party  had  taken,  and  there  we  beg  to  leave 
him  for  the  present. 

The  old  squire  felt  his  animal  heat  much  revived  by  the 
warmth  of  the  frieze  coat ;  and  his  spirits,  now  that  the 
dreadful  scene  into  which  he  had  been  so  unexpectedly 
cast  had  passed   away  without  danger,  began  to  rise  so 


m  WILLY   REILLY. 

exuberantly  that  his  conversation  became  quite  loquacious 
and  mirthful,  if  not  actually,  to  a  certain  extent,  incoherent. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  you  must  come  home  with  me, — con- 
found me,  but  you  must,  and  you  needn't  say  nay,  now,  for 
I  shall  neither  take  excuse  nor  apology.  I  am  a  hospitable 
man,  Mr. what's  this  your  name  is  ?" 

"  My  name,  sir,"  replied  the  other,  "  is  Reilly — William 
Reilly,  or  as  I  am  more  generally  called,  Willy  Reilly. 
The  name,  sir,  though  an  honourable  one,  is,  in  this 
instance,  that  of  an  humble  man,  but  one  who,  I  trust,  will 
never  disgrace  it." 

"  You  must  come  home  with  me,  Mr.  Reilly.  Not  a 
word  now." 

"  Such  is  my  intention,  sir,"  replied  Eeilly.  "  I  shall 
not  leave  you  until  I  see  that  all  risk  of  danger  is  past ; 
until  I  place  you  safely  under  your  own  roof." 

"  Well  now,"  continued  the  old  squire,  "  I  believe  a 
Papist  can  be  a  gentleman — a  brave  man — a  man  of 
honour,  Mr.  Reilly." 

"I  am  not  aware  that  there  is  anything  in  his  religion 
to  make  him  either  dishonourable  or  cowardly,  sir,"  replied 
Reilly,  with  a  smile. 

"No  matter,"  continued  the  other,  who  found  a  good 
deal  of  difficulty  in  restraining  his  prejudices  on  that 
point,  "no  matter,  sir,  no  matter,  Mr. — a — a — oh  yes, 
Reilly,  we  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  religion — away 
with  it — confound  religion,  sir,  if  it  prevents  one  man 
from  being  thankful,  and  grateful  too,  to  another,  when 
that    other  has   saved  his  life.     What's  your   state   and 

condition    in   society,  Mr. A  confound   the  scoundrel  ! 

he'd  have  shot  me.  We  must  hang  that  fellow— the 
Red  Rapparee  they  call  him — a  dreadful  scourge  to  the 
country;  and  another  thing,  Mr. — Mr.  Mahon — you 
must  come  to  my  daughter's  wedding.  Not  a  word  now — 
by  the  Great  Boyne,  you  must.  Have  you  ever  seen  my 
daughter,  sir?" 

"  I  have  never  had  the  pleasure,"  replied  Reilly,  "  but  I 
have  heard  enough  of  her  wonderful  goodness  and  beauty." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  tell  you  to  your  teeth  that  I  deny  your 
words — you  have  stated  a  falsehood,  sir, — a  lie,  sir." 

"What   do   you   mean,    sir?"  replied  Reilly,  somewhat 


WILLY  REILLY.  23 

indignantly.  "  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  stating  a  falsehood, 
nor  of  submitting  tamely  to  such  an  imputation." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha,  I  say  it's  a  lie  still,  my  friend.  What  did 
you  say  ?  Why,  that  you  had  heard  enough  of  her  goodness 
and  beauty.  Now,  sir,  by  the  banks  of  the  Boyne,  I  say 
you  didn't  hear  half  enough  of  either  one  or  t'other.  Sir, 
you  should  know  her,  for  although  you  are  a  Papist  you 
are  a  brave  man,  and  a  gentleman.     Still,  sir,  a  Papist  is 

not curse  it,  this  isn't  handsome  of  me,  Willy.     I 

beg  your  pardon.  Confound  all  religions  if  it  goes  to  that. 
Still  at  the  same  time  I'm  bound  to  say  as  a  loyal  man 
that  Protestantism  is  my  forte,  Mr.  Eeilly — there's  where 
Pm  strong;  a  touch  of  Hercules  about  me  there,  Mr. 
Eeilly — Willy.  I  mean.  Well,  you  are  a  thorough  good 
fellow,  Papist  and  all,  though  you— ahem ! — never  mind 
though,  you  shall  see  my  daughter,  and  you  shall  hear  my 
daughter;  for,  by  the  great  Boyne,  she  must  salute  the 
man  that  saved  her  father's  life,  aud  prevented  her  from 
being  an  orphan.  And  yet  see,  Willy,  I  love  that  girl  to 
such  a  degree  that  if  heaven  was  open  for  me  this 
moment,  and  that  Saint  Peter — hem !  I  mean  the  Apostle 
Peter,  said  to  me,  {  Come,  Folliard,  walk  in,  sir,'  by  the 
great  Deliverer  that  saved  us  from  Pope  and  Popery,  brass 
money,  and — ahem  !  I  beg  your  pardon — well,  I  say  if  he 
was  to  say  so,  I  wouldn't  leave  her.  There's  affection  for 
you ;  but  she  deserves  it.  No,  if  ever  a  girl  was  capable  of 
keeping  an  old  father  from  heaven  she  is." 

"  I  understand  your  meaning,  sir,"  replied  Eeilly  with  a 
smile,  "  and  I  believe  she  is  loved  by  every  one  who  has 
the  pleasure  of  knowing  her — by  rich  and  poor." 

"  Troth,  Mr.  Eeilly,"  observed  Andy,  "  it's  a  sin  for  any 
one  to  let  their  affections,  even  for  one  of  their  own  childer, 
go  between  them  and  heaven.  As  for  the  masther,  he 
makes  a  god  of  her.  To  be  sure  if  ever  there  was  an  angel 
in  this  world  she  is  one." 

"  Get  out,  you  old  whelp,"  exclaimed  his  master  ;  "  what 
do  you  know  about  it  ? — you  who  never  had  wife  or  child  ! 
isn't  she  my  only  child  ?— the  apple  of  my  eye  1  the  love  of 
my  heart  ?" 

"If  you  loved  her  so  well  you  wouldn't  make  her 
unhappy  then." 


2  A  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  you  despicable  old  Papist  T 

"I  mean  that  you  wouldn't  marry  her  to  a  man  she 
doesn't  like,  as  you're  goin'  to  do.  That's  a  bad  way  to 
make  her  happy  at  any  rate." 

"Overlook. the  word  Papist,  Mr.  Reilly,  that  I  applied  to 
that  old  idolater — the  fellow  worships  images ;  of  course 
you  know,  as  a  Papist,  he  does — ahem  ! — but  to  show  you 
that  I  don't  hate  the  Papists  without  exception,  I  beg  to 
let  you  know,  sir,  that  I  frequently  have  the  Papist  priest 
of  our  parish  to  dine  with  me;  and  if  that  isn't  liberality 
the  devil's  in  it.  Isn't  that  true,  you  superstitious  old 
Padareen  ?  No,  Mr.  Eeilly,  Mr.  Mahon— Willy,  I  mean— 
I'm  a  liberal  man,  and  I  hope  we'll  be  all  saved  yet,  with 
the  exception  of  the  Pope — ahem ! — yes,  I  hope  we  shall 
all  be  saved." 

"Troth,  sir,"  said  Andy,  addressing  himself  to  Reilly, 
"he's  a  quare  gentleman,  this.  He's  always  abusing  the 
Papists,  as  he  calls  us,  and  yet  for  every  Protestant 
servant  undher  his  roof  he  has  three  Papists,  as  he  calls 
us.     His  bark,  sir,  is  worse  than  his  bite,  any  day." 

"  I  belie ve  it,"  replied  Reilly,  in  a  low  voice,  "  and  it's  a 
pity  that  a  good  and  benevolent  man  should  suffer  these 
idle  prejudices  to  sway  him." 

"Divil  a  bit  they  sway  him,  sir,"  replied  Andy,  "he'll 
damn  and  abuse  them  and  their  religion,  and  yet  he'll  go 
any  length  to  serve  one  o'  them,  if  they  want  a  friend,  and 
has  a  good  character.  But  here,  now  we're  at  the  gate  of 
the  avenue  and  you'll  soon  see  the  Cooleen,  Bawri." 

"  Hallo  1"  the  squire  shouted  out,  "  what  the  devil !  are 
you  dead  or  asleep  there  1  Brady,  you  Papist  scoundrel, 
why  not  open  the  gate?" 

The  porter's  wife  came  out  as  he  uttered  the  words, 
saying,  "  I  beg  your  honour's  pardon.  Ned  is  up  at  the 
Castle ;"  and  whilst  speaking  she  opened  the  gate. 

"  Ha,  Molly  !"  exclaimed  her  master,  in  a  tone  of  such 
bland  good  nature  as  could  not  for  a  moment  be  mistaken ; 
"well,  Molly,  how  is  little  Mick?  Is  he  better,  poor 
fellow  V 

"  He  is,  thank  God,  and  your  honour." 

"Hallo,  Molly,"  said  the  squire,  laughing,  "  that's  Popery 
again.     You  are   thanking   G-od   and   me   as   if   we  were 


WILLY  REILLY.  25 

intimate  acquaintances.  None  of  that  foolish  Popish 
nonsense.  When  you  thank  God  thank  Him ;  and  when 
you  thank  me,  why  thank  me ;  but  don't  unite  us,  as  you 
do  Him  and  your  Popish  saints,  for  I  tell  you,  Molly,  I'm 
no  saint ;  God  forbid !  Tell  the  doctor-man  to  pay  him 
every  attention,  and  to  send  his  bill  to  me  when  the  child 
is  properly  recovered  ;  mark  that — properly  recovered." 

A  noble  avenue,  that  swept  along  with  two  or  three 
magnificent  bends,  brought  them  up  to  a  fine  old  mansion 
of  the  castellated  style,  where  the  squire  and  his  two 
equestrian  attendants  dismounted,  and  were  ushered  into 
the  parlour,  which  they  found  brilliantly  lighted  up  with  a 
number  of  large  wax  tapers.  The  furniture  of  the  room  was 
exceedingly  rich,  but  somewhat  curious  and  old-fashioned. 
It  was  such,  however,  as  to  give  ample  proof  of  great  wealth 
and  comfort,  and  by  the  heat  of  a  large  peat  fire  whiclt 
blazed  in  the  capacious  hearth,  it  communicated  that  sense 
of  warmth  which  was  in  complete  accordance  with  the 
general  aspect  of  the  apartment.  An  old  grey-haired 
butler,  well-powdered,  together  with  two  or  three  other 
servants  in  rich  livery,  now  entered,  and  the  squire's  first 
inquiry  was  after  his  daughter. 

11  John,"  said  he  to  the  butler,  "  how  is  3rour  mistress  ?" 
but,  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  added,  "  here  are 
twenty  pounds,  which  you  will  hand  to  those  fine  fellows 
at  the  hall-door." 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  "  those  men  are  my 
tenants,  and  the  sons  of  my  tenants :  they  have  only 
performed  towards  you  a  duty  which  common  humanitjr 
would  require  at  their  hands  towards  the  humblest  person 
that  lives." 

"  They  must  accept  it,  Mr.  Reilly — they  must  have  it — ■ 
they  are  humble  men — and  as  it  is  only  the  reward  of  a 
kind  office,  I  think  it  is  justly  due  to  them.  Here,  John, 
give  them  the  money." 

It  was  in  vain  that  Reilly  interposed — the  old  squire 
would  not  listen  to  him.  John  was,  accordingly,  despatched 
to  the  hall  steps,  but  found  that  they  had  all  gone. 

At  this  moment  our  friend  Tom  Steeple  met  the  butler, 
whom  he  approached  with  a  kind  of  wild  and  uncouth 
anxietv. 


2G  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  Aha !  Mista  John,"  said  he,  "  you  tall  man  too,  but  not 
tall  as  Tom  Steeple — ha,  ha — you  good  man  too,  Mista 
John — give  Tom  bully  dinners — Willy  Reilly,  Mista  John, 
want  to  see  Willy  Reilly." 

"  What  do  you  want  with  him,  Tom  1  he's  engaged  with 
the  master." 

"  Must  see  him,  Mista  John  ;  stitch  in  time  saves  nine. 
Hicko !  hicko !  God's  sake,  Mista  John  ;  God's  sake  I  Up 
dere ;"  and,  as  he  spoke,  he  pointed  towards  the  sky. 

"AVell,  but  what  is  your  business,  then?  What  have 
you  to  say  to  him  3     He's  engaged,  I  tell  you." 

Tom,  apprehensive  that  he  might  not  get  an  opportunity 
of  communicating  with  Eeilly,  bolted  in,  and  as  the  parlour 
door  stood  open,  he  saw  him  standing  near  the  large 
chimney-piece. 

"  Willy  Reilly,"  he  exclaimed  in  a  voice  that  trembled 
with  earnestness,  "Willy  Reilly,  dere's  news  for  you — for 
de  squire  too — bad  news — God's  sake  come  wid  Tom — 
you  tall,  too,  Willy  Reilly,  but  not  tall  as  Tom  is." 

"What  is  the  matter,  Tom?"  asked  Reilly,  "you  look 
alarmed." 

"  God's  sake  here,  Willy  Reilly,"  replied  the  kind-hearted 
fool,  "  come  wid  Tom.     Bad  news." 

"  Hallo !"  exclaimed  the  squire,  "  what  is  the  matter  1  Is 
this  Tom  Steeple  1  Go  to  the  kitchen,  Tom,  and  get  one 
of  your  *  bully  dinners' — my  poor  fellow — off  with  you — 
and  a  pot  of  beer,  Tom." 

An  expression  of  distress,  probably  heightened  by  his 
vague  and  unconscious  sense  of  the  squire's  kindness,  was 
depicted  strongly  on  nis  countenance,  and  ended  in  a  burst 
of  tears., 

"  Ha  J"  exclaimed  Reilly,  "  poor  Tom,  sir,  was  with  us 
to-night  on  our  duck-shooting  excursion,  and,  now  that  I 
remember,  remained  behind  us  in  the  old  ruin — and  then 
he  is  in  tears.  What  can  this  mean  ?  I  will  go  with  you, 
Tom — excuse  me,  sir,  for  a  few  minutes — there  can  be  no 
harm  in  hearing  what  he  has  to  say." 

He  accompanied  the  fool  with  whom  he  remained  for 
about  six  or  eight  minutes,  after  which  he  re-entered  the 
parlour  with  a  face  which  strove  in  vain  to  maintain  its 
previous  expression  of  ease  and  serenity. 


WILLY  REILLY.  27 

"Well,  Willy?"  said  the  squire;  "you  see,  by  the  way, 
I  make  an  old  acquaintance  of  you " 

"  You  do  me  honour,  sir,"  replied  Eeilly. 

"Well,  what  was  this  mighty  matter?  Not  a  fool's 
message,  I  hope?  eh!" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  other,  "but  a  matter  of  some  import- 
ance." 

"  John,"  asked  his  master,  as  the  butler  entered,  "  did 
you  give  those  worthy  fellows  the  money?" 

"No,  your  honour,"  replied  the  other,  "they  were  gone 
before  I  went  out." 

"  Well,  well,"  replied  his  master,  "  it  can't  be  helped.  You 
will  excuse  me,  Mr. — a — a — yes — Mr.  Reilly- Willy- Willy — 
ay,  that's  it — you  will  excuse  me,  Willy,  for  not  bringing 
you  to  the  drawing-room.  The  fact  is,  neither  of  us  is  in  a 
proper  trim  to  go  there — both  travel-soiled  as  they  say — 
you  with  duck-shooting  and  I  with  a  long  ride — besides,  I 
am  quite  too  much  fatigued  to  change  my  dress — John, 
some  Madeira.  I'm  better  than  I  was — but  still  dreadfully 
exhausted — and  afterwards,  John,  tell  your  mistress  that 
her  father  wishes  to  see  her  here.  First,  the  Madeira, 
though,  till  I  recruit  myself  a  little.  A  glass  or  two  will 
do  neither  of  us  any  harm,  Willy,  but  a  great  deal  of  good. 
God  bless  me  !  what  an  escape  I've  had !  what  a  dreadful 
fate  you  rescued  me  from,  my  young  friend  and  preserver — 
for  as  such  I  will  ever  look  upon  you." 

"  Sir,"  replied  Eeilly,  "  I  will  not  deny  that  the  appear- 
ance of  myself  and  my  companions,  in  all  probability,  saved 
your  life." 

"There  was  no  probability  in  it,  Willy — none  at  all — it 
would  have  been  a  dead  certainty  in  every  sense.  My 
God  !  Here  John — put  it  down  here — fill  for  that  gentleman 
and  me — thank  you,  John.  Willy,"  he  said  as  he  took  the 
glass  in  his  trembling  hand — "  Willy — John,  withdraw  and 
send  down  my  daughter — Willy" — the  old  man  looked  at 
him,  but  was  too  full  to  utter  a  word.  At  this  moment  his 
daughter  entered  the  room,  and  her  father  laying  down  the 
glass,  opened  his  arms,  and  said  in  a  choking  voice, 
"Helen,  my  daughter — my  child — come  to  me;"  and  as 
she  threw  herself  into  them  he  embraced  her  tenderly,  and 
wept  aloud. 


23  WILLY   REILLY. 

u  Dear  papa,"  she  exclaimed,  after  the  first  burst  of  his 
grief  was  over,  "  what  has  affected  you  so  deeply  1  Why 
are  you  so  much  agitated  V 

"  Look  at  that  noble  young  man,"  he  exclaimed,  directing 
her  attention  to  Reilly,  who  was  still  standing.  "  Look  at 
him,  my  life,  and  observe  him  well ;  there  he  stands  who 
has  this  night  saved  your  loving  father  from  the  deadly  aim 
of  an  assassin — from  being  murdered  by  O'Donnel,  the 
Eed  Rapparee,  in  the  lonely  moors." 

Keilly,  from  the  moment  the  far-famed  Cooleen  Bawn 
entered  the  room,  heard  not  a  syllable  the  old  man  had 
said.  He  was  absorbed,  entranced,  struck  with  a  sensation 
of  wonder,  surprise,  agitation,  joy,  and  confusion,  all  nearly 
at  the  same  moment.  Such  a  blaze  of  beauty,  such  elegance 
of  person,  such  tenderness  and  feeling  as  chastened  the 
radiance  of  her  countenance  into  something  that  might  be 
termed  absolutely  divine ;  such  symmetry  of  form ;  such 
harmony  of  motion ;  such  a  seraphic  being  in  the  shape  of 
woman,  he  had,  in  fact,  never  seen  or  dreamt  of.  She 
seemed  as  if  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  of  light,  of  dig- 
nity, of  goodness,  of  grace ;  but  that  which,  above  all, 
smote  his  heart  on  the  moment  was  the  spirit  of  tenderness 
and  profound  sensibility  which  seemed  to  predominate  in 
her  whole  being.  Why  did  his  manly  and  intrepid  heart 
palpitate]  Why  did -such  a  strange  confusion  seize  upon 
him  1  Why  did  the  few  words  which  she  uttered  in  her 
father's  arms  fill  his  ears  with  a  melody  that  charmed  him 
out  of  his  strength  1  Alas !  is  it  necessary  to  ask  1  To 
those  who  do  not  understand  this  mystery,  no  explanation 
could  be  of  any  avail ;  and  to  those  who  do,  none  is  necessary. 

After  her  father  had  spoken,  she  raised  herself  from  his 
arms,  and  assuming  her  full  height — and  she  was  tall — 
iooked  for  a  moment  with  her  dark,  deep,  and  terrible  eyes, 
upon  Keilly,  who  in  the  meantime  felt  rapt,  spell-bound, 
and  stood,  whilst  his  looks  were  rivetted  upon  these 
irresistible  orbs,  as  if  he  had  been  attracted  by  the  influence 
of  some  delightful  but  supernatural  power,  under  which  he 
felt  himself  helpless. 

That  mutual  gaze  and  that  delightful  moment !  alas  ! 
how  many  hours  of  misery — of  sorrow — of  suffering — and 
of  madness  did  they  not  occasion  ! 


WILLY  REILLY.  29 

"Papa  lias  imposed  a  task  upon  me,  sir,"  she  said, 
advancing  gracefully  towards  him,  her  complexion  now  pale, 
and  again  overspread  with  deep  blushes.  "  What  do  I  say? 
A  task — a  task !  to  thank  the  preserver  of  my  father's  life — 
I  know  not  what  I  say  :  help  me,  sir,  to  papa — I  am  weak 

'■ — I  am "   Eeilly  flew  to  her,  and  caught  her  in  his  arms 

just  in  time  to  prevent  her  from  falling. 

"  My  God  !"  exclaimed  her  father,  getting  to  his  feet, 
"  what  is  the  matter?  I  was  wrong  to  mention  the  circum- 
stance so  abruptly — I  ought  to  have  prepared  her  for  it. 
You  are  strong,  Eeilly,  you  are  strong,  and  I  am  too 
feeble, — carry  her  to  the  settee.  There,  God  bless  you  ! — 
God  bless  you  ! — she  will  soon  recover.  Helen  !  my  child  ! 
my  life !  What,  Helen !  Come,  dearest  love,  be  a  woman. 
I  am  safe,  as  you  may  see,  dearest.  I  tell  you  I  sustained 
no  injury  in  life — not  a  hair  of  my  head  was  hurt ;  thanks 
to  Mr.  Eeilly  for  it — thanks  to  this  gentleman.  Oh  !  that's 
right — bravo,  Helen — bravo,  my  girl !  St- e  that,  Eeilly,  isn't 
she  a  glorious  creature  1  She  recovers  now,  to  set  her  old 
loving  father's  heart  at  ease." 

The  weakness,  for  it  did  not  amount  altogether  to  insen- 
sibility, was  only  of  brief  duration. 

"Dear  papa,"  said  she,  raising  herself,  and  withdrawing 
gently  and  modestly  from  Eeilly's  support,  "I  was  unpre- 
pared for  the  account  of  this  dreadful  affair.  Excuse  me, 
sir;  surely  you  will  admit  that  a  murderous  attack  on  dear 
papa's  life  could  not  be  listened  to  by  his  only  child 
with  indifference.  But  do  let  me  know  how  it  happened, 
papa." 

"You  are  not  yet  equal  to  it,  darling — you  are  too  much 
agitated." 

"I  am  equal  to  it  now,  papa!  Pray  let  me  hear  it,  and 
how  this  gentleman — who  will  be  kind  enough  to  imagine 
my  thanks — for,  indeed,  no  language  could  express  them — 
and  how  this  gentleman  was  the  means  of  saving  you." 

"  Perhaps,  Miss  Folliard,"  said  Eeilly,  "  it  would  be  better 
to  defer  the  explanation  until  you  shall  have  gained  more 
strength." 

"Oh  no,  sir,"  she  replied,  "my  anxiety  to  hear  it  will 
occasion  me  greater  suffering,  I  am  sure,  than  the  knowledge 
of  it,  especially  now  that  papa  is  safe." 


30  WILLY  REILLY. 

Reilly  bowed  in  acquiescence,  bub  not  in  consequence  of 
her  words ;  a  glance  as  quick  as  the  lightning,  but  full  of 
entreaty  and  gratitude,  and  something  like  joy — for  who 
does  not  know  the  many  languages  which  the  single  glance 
of  a  lovely  woman  can  speak  1 — such  a  glance,  we  say, 
accompanied  her  words,  and  at  once  won  him  to  assent. 

'•'Miss  Folliard  may  be  right,  sir,"  he  observed,  "and  as 
the  shock  has  passed,  perhaps  to  make  her  briefly  acquainted 
with  the  circumstances  will  rather  relieve  her." 

"  Right/'  said  her  father,  "  so  it  will,  Willy,  so  it  will, 
especially  thank  God,  as  there  has  been  no  harm  done. 
Look  at  this  now  !  Get  away,  you  saucy  baggage  !  Your 
poor  loving  father  has  only  just  escaped  being  shot,  and 
now  he  runs  the  risk  of  being  strangled." 

"  Dear,  dear  papa,"  she  said,  "  who  could  have  thought 
of  injuring  you — you  with  your  angry  tongue,  but  your 
generous  and  charitable  and  noble  heart  V  and  again  she 
wound  her  exquisite  and  lovely  arms  about  his  neck  and 
kissed  him,  whilst  a  fresh  gush  of  tears  came  to  her  eyes. 

"  Come,  Helen — come,  love,  be  quiet  now,  or  I  shall  not 
tell  you  anything  more  about  my  rescue  by  that  gallant 
young  fellow  standing  before  you." 

This  was  followed,  on  her  part,  by  another  glance  at 
Reilly,  and  the  glance  was  as  speedily  followed  by  a  blush, 
and  again  a  host  of  tumultuous  emotions  crowded  around 
his  heart. 

The  old  man,  placing  her  head  upon  his  bosom,  kissed 
and  patted  her,  after  which  he  related  briefly,  and  in  such 
a  way  as  not,  if  possible,  to  excite  her  afresh,  the  circum- 
stances with  which  the  reader  is  already  acquainted.  At 
the  close,  however,  when  he  came  to  the  part  which  Reilly 
had  borne  in  the  matter,  and  dwelt  at  more  length  on  his 
intrepidity  and  spirit,  and  the  energy  of  character  and 
courage  with  which  he  quelled  the  terrible  Rapparee,  he 
was  obliged  to  stop  for  a  moment,  and  say — 

"  Why,  Helen,  what  is  the  matter,  my  darling1?  Are  you 
getting  ill  again  ?  Your  little  heart  is  going  at  a  gallop — 
bless  me,  how  it  pit-a-pats.  There  now,  you've  heard  it  all 
— here  I  am,  safe — and  there  stands  the  gentleman  to 
whom,  under  God,  we  are  both  indebted  for  it.  And  now 
let  us  have  dinner,  darling,  for  we  have  not  dined." 


WILLY  REILLY.  31 

Apologies  on  the  part  of  Beilly,  who  really  had  dined, 
were  flung  to  the  winds  by  the  old  squire. 

"What  matter,  Willy?  what  matter,  man? — sit  at  the 
table,  pick  something — curse  it,  we  won't  eat  you.  Your 
dress  1 — never  mind  your  dress.  I  am  sure  Helen  here  will 
not  find  fault  with  it.  Come,  Helen,  use  your  influence, 
love.  And  you,  sir,  Willy  Reilly,  give  her  your  arm." 
This  he  added  in  consequence  of  dinner  having  been 
announced  while  he  spoke;  and  so  they  passed  into  the 
dining-room. 


CHAPTER  III. 

DARING    ATTEMPT    OF     THE     RED     RAPPAREE— MYSTERIOUS 
DISAPPEARANCE  OF  HIS   GANG — THE   AVOWAL. 

t»  "E  must  go  back  a  little.  When  Helen  sank  under 
v  °  the  dreadful  intelligence  of  the  attempt  made  to 
assassinate  her  father,  we  stated  at  the  time  that 
she  was  not  absolutely  insensible ;  and  this  was  the  fact. 
Reilly,  already  enraptured  by  such  wonderful  grace  and 
beauty  as  the  highest  flight  of  his  imagination  could  never 
have  conceived,  when  called  upon  by  her  father  to  carry 
her  to  the  sofa,  could  scarcely  credit  his  senses  that  such  a 
lovely  and  precious  burden  should  ever  be  entrusted  to 
him,  much  less  borne  in  his  very  arms.  In  order  to  pre- 
vent her  from  falling,  he  was  literally  obliged  to  throw  them 
around  her,  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  to  press  her — for  the 
purpose  of  supporting  her — against  his  heart,  the  pulsations 
of  which  were  going  at  a  tremendous  speed.  There  was,  in 
fact,  something  so  soft,  so  pitiable,  so  beautiful,  and  at  the 
same  time  so  exquisitely  pure  and  fragrant,  in  this  lovely 
creature,  as  her  head  lay  drooping  on  his  shoulder,  her  pale 
cheek  literally  lying  against  his,  that  it  is  not  at  all  to  be 
wondered  at  that  the  beatings  of  his  heart  were  accelerated 
to  an  unusual  degree.  Now,  she,  from  her  position  upon 
his  bosom,  necessarily  felt  this  rapid  action  of  its  tenant; 
when,  therefore,  her  father,  after  her  recovery,  on  reciting 
to  her  the  fearful  events  of  the  evening,  and  dwelling  upon 


32  WILLY  REILLY. 

Eeilly's  determination  and  courage,  expressed  alarm  at  the 
palpitations  of  her  heart,  a  glance  passed  between  them 
which  each,  once  and  for  ever,  understood.  She  had  felt 
the  agitation  of  his,  who  had  risked  his  life  in  defence  of 
her  father,  for  in  this  shape  the  old  man  had  truly  put  it ; 
and  now  she  knew  from  her  father's  observations,  as  his  arm 
lay  upon  her  own,  that  the  interest  which  his  account  of 
Eeilly's  chivalrous  conduct  throughout  the  whole  affair  had 
excited  in  it  were  discovered.  In  this  case  heart  spoke  to 
heart,  and  by  the  time  they  sat  down  to  dinner,  each  felt 
conscious  that  their  passion,  brief  as  was  the  period  of  their 
acquaintance,  had  become,  whether  for  good  or  evil,  the 
uncontrollable  destiny  of  their  lives. 

William  Eeilly  was  the  descendant  of  an  old  and  noble 
Irish  family.  His  ancestors  had  gone  through  all  the  vicis- 
situdes and  trials,  and  been  engaged  in  most  of  the  civil 
broils  and  wars,  which,  in  Ireland,  had  characterized  the 
reign  of  Elizabeth.  As  we  are  not  disposed  to  enter  into  a 
disquisition  upon  the  history  of  that  stormy  period,  unless 
to  say  that  we  believe  in  our  souls  both  parties  were  equally 
savage  and  inhuman;  and  that  there  was  not,  literally,  a 
toss-up  between  them,  we  have  only  to  add,  that  Eeilly's 
family,  at  least  that  branch  of  it  to  which  he  belonged,  had 
been  reduced  by  the  ruin  that  resulted  from  the  civil  wars, 
and  the  confiscations  peculiar  to  the  times.  His  father  had 
made  a  good  deal  of  money  abroad  in  business,  but  feeling 
that  melancholy  longing  for  his  native  soil — for  the  dark 
mountains  aud  the  green  fields  of  his  beloved  country — he 
returned  to  it ;  and  having  taken  a  large  farm  of  about  a 
thousand  acres,  under  a  peculiar  tenure,  which  we  shall 
mention  ere  we  close,  he  devoted  himself  to  pasturage  and 
agriculture.  Old  Eeilly  had  been  for  some  years  dead,  and 
his  eldest  son,  William,  was  now  not  only  the  head  of  his 
immediate  family,  but  of  that  great  branch  of  it  to  which 
he  belonged,  although  he  neither  claimed  nor  exercised  the 
honour.  In  Reilly,  many  of  those  irreconcilable  points  of 
character,  which  scarcely  ever  meet  in  the  disposition  of 
any  but  an  Irishman,  were  united.  He  was  at  once  mild 
and  impetuous ;  under  peculiar  circumstances,  humble  and 
unassuming,  but  iu  others,  proud  almost  to  a  fault;  a  bitter 
foe  to  oppression  in  every  sense,  and  to  bigotry  in  every 


WILLY  REILLY.  33 

creed.  He  was  highly  educated,  and  as  perfect  a  master  of 
French,  Spanish,  and  German,  as  he  was  of  either  English 
or  Irish,  both  of  which  he  spoke  with  equal  fluency  and 
purity.  To  his  personal  courage  we  need  not  make  any 
further  allusion.  On  many  occasions,  it  had  been  well 
tested  on  the  Continent.  He  was  an  expert  and  unrivalled 
swordsman,  and  a  first-rate  shot,  whether  with  the  pistol 
or  fowling-piece.  At  every  athletic  exercise  he  was  match- 
less ;  and  one  great  cause  of  his  extraordinary  popularity 
among  the  peasantry  was  the  pleasure  he  took  in  promoting 
the  exercise  of  such  manly  sports  among  them.  In  his 
person  he  combined  great  strength  with  remarkable  grace 
and  ease.  The  wonderful  symmetry  of  his  form  took  away 
apparently  from  his  size ;  but  on  looking  at  and  examining 
him  closely,  you  felt  surprised  at  the  astonishing  fulness  of 
his  proportions  and  the  prodigious  muscular  power  which 
lay  under  such  deceptive  elegance.  As  for  his  features, 
they  were  replete  with  that  manly  expression  which  changes 
with,  and  becomes  a  candid  exponent  of,  every  feeling  that 
influences  the  heart.  His  mouth  was  fine,  and  his  full  red 
lips  exquisitely  chiselled ;  his  chin  was  full  of  firmness ; 
and  his  large  dark  eyes,  though  soft,  mellow,  and  insinu- 
ating, had  yet  a  sparkle  in  them  that  gave  evidence  of  a 
fiery  spirit  when  provoked,  as  well  as  of  a  high  sense  of 
self-respect  and  honour.  His  complexion  was  slightly 
bronzed  by  residence  in  Continental  climates — a  circum- 
stance that  gave  a  warmth  and  mellowness  to  his  fea- 
tures, which,  when  taken  into  consideration  with  his 
black  clustering  locks,  and  the  snowy  whiteness  of  his 
forehead,  placed  him  in  the  very  highest  order  of  handsome 
men. 

Such  was  our  hero,  the  fame  of  whose  personal  beauty, 
as  well  as  that  of  the  ever-memorable  Cooleen  Bawn,  is  yet 
a  tradition  in  the  country. 

On  this  occasion  the  dinner  party  consisted  only  of  the 
squire,  his  daughter,  and  Reilly.  The  old  man,  on 
reflecting  that  he  was  now  safe,  felt  his  spirits  revive 
apace.  His  habits  of  life  were  jolly  and  convivial,  but  not 
actually  intemperate,  although  it  must  be  admitted  that 
on  some  occasions  he  got  into  the  debatable  ground 
To  those  who  did  not  know  him,  and  who  were  acquainted 

c 


34  WILLY  REILLY. 

through  common  report  only  with  his  unmitigated  abuse 
of  Popery,  he  was  looked  upon  as  an  oppressive  and  over- 
bearing tyrant,  who  would  enforce,  to  the  furthest  possible 
stretch  of  severity,  the  penal  enactments  then  in  existence 
against  Eoman  Catholics.  And  this,  indeed,  was  true,  so 
far  as  any  one  was  concerned  from  whom  he  imagined 
himself  to  have  received  an  injury  ;  against  such  he  was  a 
vindictive  tyrant,  and  a  most  implacable  persecutor.  By 
many,  on  the  other  hand,  he  was  considered  as  an 
eccentric  man,  with  a  weak  head,  but  a  heart  that  often 
set  all  his  anti-Catholic  prejudices  at  complete  defiance. 

At  dinner,  the  squire  had  most  of  the  conversation  to 
himself,  his  loquacity  and  good-humour  having  being  very 
much  improved  by  a  few  glasses  of  his  rich  old  Madeira. 
His  daughter,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed  frequently  in  a 
state  of  abstraction,  and,  on  more  than  one  occasion, 
found  herself  incapable  of  answering  several  questions 
which  he  put  to  her.  Ever  and  anon,  the  timid,  blushing 
glance  was  directed  at  Eeilly,  by  whom  it  was  returned 
with  a  significance  that  went  directly  to  her  heart.  Both, 
in  fact,  appeared  to  be  influenced  by  some  secret  train  of 
thought  that  seemed  quite  at  variance  with  the  old 
gentleman's  garrulity. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  here  we  are,  thank  God,  all  safe ; 
and  it  is  to  you,  Willy,  we  owe  it.  Come,  man,  take  off 
your  wine.     Isn't  he  a  fine  young  fellow,  Helen  V 

Helen's  heart,  at  the  moment,  had  followed  her  eyes, 
and  she  did  not  hear  him. 

"  Hallo  !  what  the  deuce  !  By  the  banks  of  the  Boyne, 
I  believe  the  girl  has  lost  her  hearing.  I  say,  Helen,  isn't 
Willy  Eeilly  here,  that  prevented  you  from  being  an 
orphan,  a  fine  young  fellow  V 

A  sudden  rosy  blush  suffused  her  whole  neck  and  face 
on  hearing  this  blunt  and  inconsiderate  question. 

"  What,  darling,  have  you  not  heard  me  V 

"  If  Mr.  Eeilly  were  not  present,  papa,  I  might  give  an 
opinion  on  that  subject ;  but  I  trust  you  will  excuse  me 
now." 

':  Well,  I  suppose  so,  there's  no  getting  women  to  speak 
to  the  point.  At  all  events  I  would  give  more  than  I'll 
mention  that  Sir  Eobert  Whitecraf  b  was  as  ^ood-looking  a 


WILLY  REILLY.  35 

specimen  of  a  man ;  I'll  engage,  if  he  was,  you  would  have 
no  objection  to  say  yes,  my  girl." 

"  I  look  to  the  disposition,  papa,  to  the  moral  feelings 
and  principles,  more  than  to  the  person." 

"  Well,  Helen,  that's  right  too,  all  right,  darling,  and  on 
that  account  Sir  Kobert  must,  and  ought  to  be,  a  favourite. 
He  is  not  yet  forty,  and  for  this  he  is  himself  my  authority, 
and  forty  is  the  prime  of  life ;  yet  with  an  immense  fortune 
and  strong  temptations,  he  has  never  launched  out  into  a 
single  act  of  imprudence  or  folly.  No,  Helen,  he  never 
sowed  a  peck  of  wild  oats  in  his  life.  He  is,  on  the 
contrary,  sober,  grave,  silent — a  little  too  much  so,  by  the 
way, — cautious,  prudent,  and  saving.  No  man  knows  the 
value  of  money  better,  nor  can  contrive  to  make  it  go 
further.  Then,  as  for  managing  a  bargain — upon  my  soul 
I  don't  think  he  treated  me  well,  though,  in  the  swop  of 
4  Hop-and-go-constant'  against  my  precious  bit  of  blood, 
'Pat  the   Spanker.'     He   made   me   pay  him  twenty-five 

pounds    boot   for   an   old But  you   shall   see   him, 

Eeilly,  you  shall  see  him,  Willy,  and  if  ever  there  was  a 
greater  take-in — you  needn't  smile,  Helen,  nor  look  at 
Willy.  By  the  good  King  William  that  saved  us  from 
Pope,  and — ahem — I  beg  pardon,  Willy,  but  upon  my 
soul,  he  took  me  completely  in.  I  say,  I  shall  show  you 
<  Hop-and-go-constant,'  and  when  you  see  him,  you'll  admit 
the  '  Hop,'  but  the  devil  a  bit  you  will  find  of  the  i  Go- 
constant.'" 

"I  suppose  the  gentleman's  personal  appearance,  sir," 
observed  Eeilly,  glancing  at  Miss  Folliard,  "  is  equal  to  his 
other  qualities." 

"Why— a — ye — s.  He's  tall,  and  thin,  and  serious, 
with  something  about  him,  say,  of  a  philosopher.  Isn't 
that  true,  Helen  V 

"Perfectly,  papa,"  she  replied,  with  a  smile  of  arch 
humour,  which,  to  Eeilly,  placed  her  character  in  a  new 
light. 

"Perfectly  true,  papa,  so  far  as  you  have  gone;  but  I 
trust  you  will  finish  the  portrait  for  Mr.  Eeilly.", 

"Well,  then,  I  will.  Where  was  II  Oh  yes— tall, 
thin,  and  serious  ;  like  a  philosopher.  I'll  go  next  to  the 
shoulders,  because  Helen  seems  to  like  them — they  are  a 


36  WILLY  REILLY. 

little  round,  or  so.  I,  myself,  wish  to  goodness  they  were 
somewhat  straighter,  but  Helen  says  the  curve's  delightfui, 
being  what  painters  and  glaziers  call  the  line  of  beauty." 

A  sweet  light  laugh,  that  rang  with  the  melody  of  a 
musical  bell,  broke  from  Helen  at  this  part  of  the  de- 
scription, in  which,  to  tell  the  truth,  she  was  joined  by 
Reilly.  The  old  man  himself,  from  sheer  happiness  and 
good-humour,  joined  them  both,  though  utterly  ignorant 
of  the  cause  of  their  mirth. 

"  Aye,  aye,"  he  exclaimed,  "  you  may  laugh — by  the 
great  Boyne,  I  knew  I  would  make  you  laugh.  Well,  I'll 
go  on.  His  complexion  is  of  a — a — no  matter — of  a  good 
standing  colour,  at  all  events  ;  his  nose,  I  grant  you,  is  as 
thin,  and  much  of  the  same  colour,  as  pasteboard,  but  as  a 
set-off  to  that,  it's  a  thorough  Williamite.  Isn't  that  true, 
Helen  i" 

"Yes,  papa;  but  I  think  KiDg  William's  nose  was  thd 
worst  feature  in  his  face,  although  that  certainly  cannot  bd 
said  of  Sir  Robert." 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  Reilly  ?  I  wish  Sir  Robert  heard  it, 
but  I'll  tell  him — there's  a  compliment,  Helen — you're  a 
good  girl — thank  you,  Helen." 

Helen's  face  was  now  radiant  with  mirthful  enjoyment, 
whilst  at  the  same  time  Reilly  could  perceive  that  from 
time  to  time  a  deep  unconscious  sigh  would  escape  from 
her,  such  a  sigh  as  induced  him  to  infer  that  some  hidden 
care  was  at  work  with  her  heart.  This  he  at  once  imputed 
to  her  father's  determination  to  force  her  into  a  marriage 
with  the  worthy  Baronet,  whom  in  his- simplicity  he  was  so 
ludicrously  describing. 

"Proceed,  papa,  and  finish  as  you  have  begun  it." 

"I  will,  to  oblige  and  gratify  yon,  Helen.  He  is  a  little 
close  about  the  knees,  Mr.  Reilly — a  little  close  about  the 
knees,  Willy." 

"  And  about  the  heart,  papa,"  added  his  daughter,  who 
for  the  life  of  her  could  not  restrain  the  observation, 

"  It's  no  fault  to  know  the  value  of  money,  my  dear 
child.  Hawever,  let  me  go  on  : — close  about  the  knees, 
but  that's  a  proof  of  strength,  because  they  support  one 
another  :  every  one  knows  that." 

"  But  his  arms,  papa  P 


WILLY  REILLY.  37 

"  You  see,  Keilly,  you  see,  Will,"  said  the  squire,  nod- 
ding in  the  direction  of  his  daughter,  "  not  a  bad  sign  that, 
and  yet  she  pretends  not  to  care  about  him.  She  is 
gratified  evidently.  Ah,  Helen,  Helen  !  it's  hard  to  know 
women." 

"Bat  his  arms,  papa  P 

"  Well,  then,  I  wish  to  goodness  you  would  allow  me 
to  skip  that  part  of  the  subject — they  are  an  awful  length, 
Willy,  I  grant.  I  allow  the  fact,  it  cannot  be  denied,  they 
ore  of  an  awful  length." 

"  It  will  give  him  the  greater  advantage  in  over-reaching, 
papa." 

"  Well,  as  to  his  arms,  upon  my  soul,  Willy,  I  know  no 
more  what  to  do  with  them " 

11  Than  he  does  himself,  papa." 

"  Just  so,  Helen ;  they  hang  about  him  like  those  of  a 
skeleton  on  wires :  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  has  a  neck 
that  always  betokens  true  blood,  long  and  thin  like  that 
of  a  racer.  Altogether  he's  a  devilish  interesting  man, 
steady,  prudent,  and  sober.  I  never  saw  him  drink  a 
third  glass  of " 

"  In  the  meantime,  papa,"  observed  Helen,  "  in  the  enthu- 
siasm of  your  description,  you  are  neglecting  Mr.  Eeiliy." 

Ah,  love,  love!  in  how  many  minute  points  can  you 
make  yourself  understood ! 

"By  the  great  William,  and  so  I  am.  Come,  Willy, 
help  yourself" — and  he  pushed  the  bottle  towards  him  as 
he  spoke. 

And  why,  gentle  reader  did  Beilly  fill  his  glass  on  that 
particular  occasion  until  it  became  literally  a  brimmer  1 
We  know — but  if  you  are  ignorant  of  it  we  simply  beg  you 
to  remain  so ;  and  why,  on  putting  the  glass  to  his  lips 
did  his  large  dark  eyes  rest  upon  her  with  that  deep  and 
melting  glance?  Why,  too,  was  that  glance  returned  with 
the  quickness  of  thought  before  her  lids  dropped  and  the 
conscious  blush  suffused  her  face  %  The  solution  of  this  we 
must  also  leave  to  your  own  ingenuity. 

"  Well,"  proceeded  the  squire,  "  steady,  prudent,  sober — 
of  a  fine  old  family,  and  with  an  estate  of  twelve  thousand 
a-year— what  do  you  think  of  that,  Willy?  Isn't  she  a 
fortunate  girH" 


38  WILLY  REILLY. 

"Taking  his  virtues  and  very  agreeable  person  into 
consideration,  sir,  I  think  so,"  replied  Beilly  in  a  tone  of 
slight  sarcasm,  which  was  only  calculated  to  reach  one  of 
his  audience. 

"You  hear  that,  Helen — you  hear  what  Mr.  Beilly — 
what  Willy — says.  The  fact  is,  I'll  call  you  nothing  but 
Willy  in  future — Willy. — You  hear  what  he  says,  darling  T 

"  Indeed  I  do,  papa — and  understand  it  perfectly," 

"That's  my  girl.  Twelve  thousand  a-year — and  has 
money  lent  out  at  every  rate  of  interest  from  six  per  cent, 
up." 

"  And  yet  I  cannot  consider  him  as  interesting  on  that 
account,  papa." 

"  You  do,  Helen — nonsense,  my  love — you  do,  I  tell  you 
— it's  all  make-believe  when  you  speak  to  the  contrary — 
don't  you  call  the  curve  on  his  shoulders  the  line  of  beauty  % 
Come — come — you  know  I  only  want  to  make  you  happy." 

"  It  is  time,  papa,  that  I  should  withdraw,"  she  replied, 
rising. 

Beilly  rose  to  open  the  door. 

"  Good  night,  papa — dear,  dear  papa,"  she  added,  put- 
ting her  snowy  arms  about  his  neck  and  kissing  him  ten- 
derly. "I  know,"  she  added,  "that  the  great  object  of 
your  life  is  to  make  your  Cooleen  Bawn  happy — and  in 
doing  so,  dear  papa — there  now  is  another  kiss  for  you — 
a  little  bribe,  papa — in  doing  so,  consult  her  heart  as  well 
as  your  own.     Good  night." 

"  Good  night,  my  treasure." 

During  this  little  scene  of  affectionate  tenderness, 
Beilly  stood  holding  the  door  open,  and  as  she  was  going 
out,  as  if  recollecting  herself,  she  turned  to  him  and  said, 
"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Beilly,  I  fear  you  must  think  me  un- 
grateful— I  have  not  yet  thanked  you  for  the  service — a 
service  indeed  so  important,  that  no  language  could  find 
expression  for  it — which  you  have  rendered  to  dear  papa 
and  to  me.  But,  Mr.  Beilly,  I  pray  you  do  not  think  me 
ungrateful,  or  insensible,  for,  indeed,  I  am  neither.  Suffer 
me  to  feel  what  I  owe  you,  and  do  not  blame  me  if  I 
cannot  express  it." 

H  If  it  were  not  for  the  value  of  the  life  which  it  is  pro- 
bable I  have  saved,  and  if  it  were  not  that  your  happiness 


WILLY   REILLY.  39 

was  so  deeply  involved  in  it,"  replied  Reilly,  "  I  would  say 
that  you  overrate  what  I  have  done  this  evening.  Bat  I 
confess,  I  am  myself  now  forced  to  see  the  value  of  my 
services,  and  I  thank  Heaven  for  having  made  me  the 
humble  instrument  of  saving  your  father's  life,  not  only  for 
his  own  sake,  Miss  Folliard,  but  for  yours.  I  now  feel  a 
double  debt  of  gratitude  to  Heaven  for  it." 

The  Cooleen  Bawn  did  not  speak,  but  the  tears  ran  down 
her  cheeks.  "  Good  night,  sir,"  she  said.  "  I  am  utterly 
incapable  of  thanking  you  as  you  deserve,  and  as  I  ought 
to  thank  you.     Good  night !" 

She  extended  her  small  snowy  hand  to  him  as  she  spoke. 
Eeilly  took  it  in  his — and  by  some  involuntary  impulse  he 
could  not  avoid  giving  it  a  certain  degree  of  pressure. 
The  fact  is,  it  was  such  a  hand — so  white — so  small — so 
soft — so  warm — so  provocative  of  a  squeeze — that  he  felt 
his  own  pressing  it,  he  knew  not  how  nor  wherefore,  at 
least  he  thought  so  at  the  time  ;  that  is  to  say,  if  he  were 
capable  of  thinking  distinctly  of  anything.  But  heaven 
and  earth !  Was  it  true  ]  No  delusion  1  No  dream  1 
The  pressure  returned !  the  slightest,  the  most  gentle,  the 
Most  delicate  pressure — the  barely  perceptible  pressure1? 
Yes !  it  was  beyond  all  doubt ;  for  although  the  act  itself 
was  light  as  delicacy  and  modesty  could  make  it,  yet  the 
spirit — the  lightening  spirit — which  it  shot  into  his  bound- 
ing and  enraptured  heart  could  not  be  for  a  moment 
mistaken. 

As  she  was  running  up  the  stairs,  she  returned,  how- 
ever, and  again  approaching  her  father,  said — whilst 
Reilly  could  observe  that  her  cheek  was  flushed  with  a 
feeling  that  seemed  to  resemble  ecstasy — "  Papa,"  said  she, 
"  what  a  stupid  girl  I  am.  I  scarcely  know  what  I  am 
saying  or  doing." 

"  By  the  great  Boyne,"  replied  her  father,  "  I'll  describe 
him  to  you  every  night  in  the  week.  I  knew  the  curve — 
the  line  of  beauty — would  get  into  your  head.  But  what 
is  it,  darling  V 

"Will  you  and  Mr.  Reilly  have  tea  in  the  drawing- 
room,  or  shall  I  send  it  down  to  you  I" 

"  I  am  too  comfortable  in  my  easy-chair,  dear  Helen ;  no, 
send  it  down." 


40  WILLY  EEILLY. 

"  After  the  shock  you  have  received,  papa,  perhaps  you 
might  wish  to  have  it  from  the  hand  of  your  own  Cooleen 
Baivnf 

As  the  old  man  turned  his  eyes  upon  her  they  literally 
danced  with  delight.  "Ah!  Willy,"  said  he,  "is  it  any 
wonder  I  should  love  her  V7 

"  I  have  often  heard,"  replied  Reilly,  "  that  it  is  impos- 
sible to  know  her,  and  not  to  love  her.     I  now  believe  it." 

"  Thank  you,  Reilly ;  thank  you,  Willy ;  shake  hands. 
Come,  Helen,  shake  hands  with  him.  That's  a  compliment. 
Shake  hands  with  him,  darling.  There  now,  that's  all 
right.  Yes,  my  love,  by  all  means,  come  down  and  give  us 
tea  here." 

Innocent  old  man — the  die  is  now  irrevocably  cast! 
That  mutual  pressure,  and  that  mutual  glance.  Alas !  alas  ! 
how  strange  and  incomprehensible  is  human  destiny  ! 

After  she  had  gone  up-stairs,  the  old  man  said,  "  You 
see,  Willy,  how  my  heart  and  soul  are  in  that  angelic 
creature.  The  great  object,  the  great  delight  of  her  life, 
is  to  anticipate  all  my  wants ;  to  study  whatever  is 
agreeable  to  me ;  in  fact,  to  make  me  happy.  And  she 
succeeds.  Everything  she  does  pleases  me.  By  the  grave 
of  Schomberg,  she's  beyond  all  price.  It  is  true  we  never 
had  a  baroneb  in  the  family,  and  it  would  gratify  me  to 
hear  her  called  Lady  Whitecraf t ;  still  I  say,  I  don't  care 
for  rank  or  ambition ;  nor  would  I  sacrifice  my  child's 
happiness  to  either.  And,  between  you  and  me,  if  she 
declines  to  have  him,  she  shan't  have  him,  that's  all  that's 
to  be  said  about  it.  He's  quite  round  in  the  shoulders  ; 
and  yet  so  inconsistent  are  women,  that  she  calls  a 
protuberance  that  resembles  the  letter  C  the  line  of 
beauty.  Then  again,  he  bit  me  in  lHop-and-go-constant;' 
and  you  know  yourself,  Willy,  that  no  person  likes  to  be 
bit,  especially  by  the  man  he  intends  for  his  son-in-law. 
If  he  gives  me  the  bit  before  marriage,  what  would  he  not 
do  after  it  ?' 

"This,  sir,  is  a  subject,"  replied  Reilly,  "on  which  1 
must  decline  to  give  an  opinion ;  bu^  I  think  that  no  father 
should  sacrifice  the  happiness  of  his  daughter  to  his  own 
inclinations.  However,  setting  this  matter  aside,  I  have 
something  of  deep  importance  to  mention  to  you." 


WILLY  REILLY.  41 

"  To  me !     Good  heavens !     What  is  it  ?" 

"  The  Red  Rapparee,  sir,  has  formed  a  plan  to  rob, 
possibly  to  murder  you,  and  what  is  worse " 

"  Worse  !  Why,  what  the  deuce — worse  !  Why,  what 
could  be  worse  V 

"The  dishonour  of  your  daughter.  It  is  his  intention  to 
carry  her  off  to  the  mountains ;  but,  pardon  me,  I  cannot 
bear  to  dwell  upon  the  diabolical  project." 

The  old  man  fell  back,  pale,  and  almost  insensible,  in  his 
cliair. 

"Do  not  be  alarmed,  sir,"  proceeded  Reilly,  "he  will  be 
disappointed.     I  have  taken  care  of  that." 

"Bat,  Mr.  Reilly,  what — how — for  heaven's  sake  tell  me 
what  you  know  about  it.  Are  you  sure  of  this?  How  did 
you  come  to  hear  of  it  *?  Tell  me — tell  me  everything 
about  it !  We  must  prepare  to  receive  the  villains — we 
must  instantly  get  assistance.  My  child — my  life — my 
Helen,  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  this  monster !" 

"Hear  me,  sir,"  said  Reilly.  "hear  me,  and  you  will 
perceive  that  I  have  taken  measures  to  frustrate  all  his 
designs,  and  to  have  him  a  prisoner  before  to-morrow's  sun 
arises." 

He  then  related  to  him  the  plan  laid  by  the  Red  Rap- 
paree, as  overheard  by  Tom  Steeple,  and  as  it  was  commu- 
nicated to  himself  by  the  same  individual  subsequently ; 
after  which  he  proceeded : 

"  The  fact  is,  sir,  I  have  sent  the  poor  fool,  who  is  both 
faithful  and  trustworthy,  to  summon  here  forty  or  fifty 
of  my  labourers  and  tenants.  They  must  be  placed  in  the 
out-houses,  and  whatever  arms  and  ammunition  you  can 
spare,  in  addition  to  the  weapons  which  they  shall  bring 
along  with  them,  must  be  made  available.  I  sent  orders 
that  they  should  be  here  about  nine  o'clock.  I  myself  will 
remain  in  this  house,  and  you  may  rest  assured  that  your 
life,  your  property,  and  your  child  shall  be  all  safe.  I  know 
the  strength  of  the  ruffian's  band  ;  it  only  consists  of  about 
twelve  men,  or  rather  twelve  devils,  but  he  and  they  will 
find  themselves  mistaken." 

Before  Miss  Folliard  came  down  to  make  tea,  Reilly  had 
summoned  the  servants,  and  given  them  instructions  as  to 
their  conduct  during  the  expected  attack.    Having  arranged 


42  WILLY  REILLY. 

this,  he  went  to  the  yard,  and  found  a  large  body  of  his 
tenants  armed  with  such  rude  weapons  as  they  could  pro- 
cure; for,  at  this  period,  it  was  a  felony  for  a  Roman 
Catholic  to  have  or  carry  arms  at  all.  The  old  squire, 
however,  was  well  provided  in  that  respect,  and,  accord- 
ingly, such  as  could  be  spared  from  the  house  were 
distributed  among  them.  Mr.  Folliard  himself  felt  his 
spirit  animated  by  a  sense  of  the  danger,  and  bustled  about 
with  uncommon  energy  and  activity,  considering  what  he 
had  suffered  in  the  course  of  the  evening.  At  all  events, 
they  both  resolved  to  conceal  the  matter  from  Helen  till 
the  last  moment^  in  order  to  spare  her  the  terror  and  alarm 
which  she  must  necessarily  feel  on  hearing  of  the  contem- 
plated violence.  At  tea,  however,  she  could  not  avoid 
observing  that  something  had  disturbed  her  father,  who, 
from  his  naturally  impetuous  character,  ejaculated,  from 
time  to  time,  "  The  blood-thirsty  scoundrel ! — murdering 
ruffian !  We  shall  hang  him,  though ;  we  can  hang  him  for 
the  conspiracy.  Would  the  fool's,  Tom  Steeple's,  evidence 
be  taken,  do  you  think  ?" 

"  I  fear  not,  sir,"  replied  Reilly.  "  In  the  meantime, 
don't  think  of  it,  don't  further  distress  yourself  about  it." 

"To  think  of  attacking  my  house,   though;   and  if  it 

were  only  I  myself  that however,  we  are  prepared,  that's 

one  comfort ;  we  are  prepared,  and  let  them — hem ! — Helen, 
my  darling,  now  that  we've  had  our  tea,  will  you  retire  to 
your  own  room1?  I  wish  to  talk  to  Mr.  Eeilly,  here,  on  a 
particular  and  important  subject,  in  which  you  yourself  are 
deeply  concerned.  Withdraw,  my  love,  but  don't  go  to 
bed  until  I  see  you  again." 

Helen  went  upstairs  with  a  light  foot  and  a  bounding 
heart.  A  certain  hope,  like  a  dream  of  far-off  and 
unexpected  happiness,  rushed  into  and  filled  her  bosom 
with  a  crowd  of  sensations  so  delicious,  that,  on  reaching 
her  own  room  she  felt  completely  overpowered  by  them, 
and  was  only  relieved  by  a  burst  of  tears.  There  was  now 
but  one  image  before  her  imagination,  but  one  image 
impressed  upon  her  pure  and  fervent  heart ;  that  image 
was  the  first  that  love  had  ever  stamped  there,  and  the  last 
that  suffering,  sorrow,  madness,  and  death  were  ever  able 
to  tear  from  it. 


WILLY  REILLY.  43 

When  the  night  had  advanced  to  the  usual  hour  for 
retiring  to  rest,  it  was  deemed  necessary  to  make  Helen 
acquainted  with  the  meditated  outrage,  in  order  to  prevent 
the  consequences  of  a  nocturnal  alarm,  for  which  she  might 
be  altogether  unprepared.  This  was  accordingly  done,  and 
her  natural  terrors  were  soothed  and  combated  by  Reilly 
and  her  father,  who  succeeded  in  reviving  her  courage,  and 
in  enabling  her  to  contemplate  what  was  to  happen  with 
tolerable  composure. 

Until  about  the  hour  of  two  o'clock  everything  remained 
silent.  Nobody  went  to  bed — the  male  servants  were  all 
prepared — the  females,  some  in  tears,  and  others  sustaining 
and  comforting  those  who  were  more  feeble-hearted.  Miss 
Folliard  was  in  her  own  room,  dressed.  At  about  half-past 
two  she  heard  a  stealthy  foot,  and  having  extinguished  the 
light  in  her  apartment,  with  great  presence  of  mind  she 
rang  the  bell,  whilst  at  the  same  moment  her  door  was 
broken  in,  and  a  man,  as  she  knew  by  his  step,  entered. 
In  the  meantime  the  house  was  alarmed — the  man  having 
hastily  projected  his  arms  about  in  several  directions,  as  if 
searching  for  her,  instantly  retreated — a  scuffle  was  heard 
outside  on  the  lobby — and  when  lights  and  assistance 
appeared,  there  were  found  eight  or  ten  men  variously 
armed,  all  of  whom  proved  to  be  a  portion  of  the  guard 
selected  by  Reilly  to  protect  the  house  and  family.  These 
men  maintained,  that  they  had  seen  the  Red  Rapparee  on 
the  roof  of  the  house,  through  which  he  had  descended,  and 
that  having  procured  a  ladder  from  the  farm-yard,  they 
entered  a  back  window,  at  a  distance  of  about  forty  feet 
from  the  ground,  in  the  hope  of  securing  his  person — that 
they  came  in  contact  with  some  powerful  man  in  the  dark, 
who  disappeared  from  among  them — but  by  what  means  he 
had  contrived  to  escape  they  could  not  guess.  This  was 
the  substance  of  all  they  knew  or  understood  upon  the 
subject. 

The  whole  house  was  immediately  and  thoroughly 
searched,  and  no  trace  of  him  could  be  found  until  they 
came  to  the  skylight,  which  was  discovered  to  be  open — 
wrenched  off  the  hinges — and  lying  on  the  roof  at  a  distance 
of  two  or  three  yards  from  its  place. 

It  soon  became  evident  that  the  Rapparee  and  his  party 


41  WILLY  REILLY. 

had  taken  the  alarm.  In  an  instant  those  who  were  outside 
awaiting  to  pounce  upon  them  in  the  moment  of  attack,  got 
orders  to  scour  the  neighbourhood,  and  if  possible  to  secure 
the  Eapparee  at  every  risk ;  and  as  an  inducement  the 
squire  himself  offered  to  pay  the  sum  of  five  hundred 
pounds  to  any  one  who  should  bring  him  to  Gorbo  Castle,* 
which  was  the  name  of  his  residence.  This  was  accordingly 
attempted,  the  country  far  and  wide  was  searched,  pursuit 
given  in  every  direction,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  Not  only 
was  the  failure  complete,  but,  what  was  still  more  un- 
accountable and  mysterious,  no  single  mark  or  trace  of 
them  could  be  found.  This  escape,  however,  did  not  much 
surprise  the  inhabitants  of  the  country  at  large,  as  it  was 
only  in  keeping  with  many  of  a  far  more  difficult  character 
which  the  Eapparee  had  often  effected.  The  only  cause  to 
which  it  could  be  ascribed  was,  the  supposed  fact  of  his 
having  taken  such  admirable  precautions  against  surprise  as 
enabled  his  gang  to  disappear  upon  a  preconcerted  plan 
the  moment  the  friendly  guards  were  discovered,  whilst  he 
himself  daringly  attempted  to  secure  the  squire's  cash  and 
his  daughter. 

Whether  the  supposition  was  right  or  wrong  will  appear 
subsequently ;  but,  in  the  meantime,  we  may  add  here,  that 
the  event  in  question,  and  the  disappearance  of  the  burglars, 
was  fatal  to  the  happiness  of  our  lovers,  for  such  they  were 
in  the  tenderest  and  most  devoted  sense  of  that  strange 
and  ungovernable  passion. 

Early  the  next  morning,  the  squire  was  so  completely 
exhausted  by  the  consequences  of  watching,  anxiety,  and 
want  of  rest,  that  he  felt  himself  overcome  by  sleep,  and 
was  obliged  to  go  to  bed.  Before  he  went,  however,  he 
made  Eeilly  promise  that  he  would  not  go  until  he  had 
breakfasted,  then  shook  him  cordially  by  the  hand,  thanked 
him  again  and  again  for  the  deep  and  important  obliga- 
tions he  had  imposed  upon  him  and  his  child,  and  con- 
cluded by  giving  him  a  general  invitation  to  his  house,  the 
doors  of  which,  he  said,  as  vrell  as  the  heart  of  its  owner, 
should  be  ever  ready  to  receive  him. 

"  As  for  Helen,  here,"  said  he,   "I  leave  her  to  thank 


*  This  name  is  fictitious. 


WILLY  REILLY.  45 

you  herself,  which  I  am  sure  she  will  do  in  a  manner  be- 
coming the  services  you  have  rendered  her,  before  you  go." 
She  then  kissed  him  tenderly,  and  he  retired  to  rest. 

At  breakfast,  Eeilly  and  Miss  Folliard  were,  of  course,- 
alone,  if  we  may  say  so.  Want  of  rest  and  apprehension 
had  given  a  cast  of  paleness  to  her  features,  that  so  far 
from  diminishing,  only  added  a  new  and  tenderer  character 
to  her  beauty.  Reilly  observed  the  exquisite  loveliness  of 
her  hand  as  she  poured  out  the  tea ;  and  when  he  remem- 
bered the  gentle  but  significant  pressure  which  it  had 
given  to  his,  more  than  once  or  twice,  on  the  preceding 
night,  he  felt  as  if  he  experienced  a  personal  interest  in  her 
fate — as  if  their  destinies  were  to  be  united — as  if  his 
glowing  spirit  could  enfold  hers,  and  mingle  with  it  for 
ever.  The  love  he  felt  for  her  pervaded  and  softened  his 
whole  being  with  such  a  feeling  of  tenderness,  timidity, 
and  ecstasy,  that  his  voice,  always  manly  and  firm,  now 
became  tremulous  in  its  tones ;  such,  in  truth,  as  is  always 
occasioned  by  a  full  and  overflowing  heart  when  it  trembles 
at  the  very  opportunity  of  pouring  forth  the  first  avowal 
of  its  affection. 

"Miss  Folliard,"  said  he,  after  a  pause,  and  with  some 
confusion,  "  do  you  believe  in  Fate  V 

The  question  appeared  to  take  her  somewhat  by  surprise 
if  one  could  judge  by  the  look  she  bestowed  upon  him 
with  her  dark,  flashing  eyes. 

"In  Fate,  Mr.  Reilly  ?  that  is  a  subject,  I  fear,  too  deep 
for  a  girl  like  me.     I  believe  in  Providence." 

"  All  this  morning  I  have  been  thinking  of  the  subject. 
Should  it  be  Fate  that  brought  me  to  the  rescue  of  your 
father  last  night,  I  cannot  but  feel  glad  of  it ;  but  though 
it  be  a  Fate  that  has  preserved  him — and  I  thank  Al- 
mighty God  for  it — yet  it  is  one  that  I  fear  has  destroyed 
my  happiness." 

"Destroyed  your  happiness,  Mr.  Reilly!  why,  how  could 
the  service  you  rendered  papa  last  night  have  such  an 
effect  r 

"I  will  be  candid,  and  tell  you,  Miss  Folliard.  I  know 
that  what  I  am  about  to  say  will  offend  you — it  was  by 
making  me  acquainted  with  his  daughter,  and  by  bringing 
me  under  the  influence  of  beauty  which  has  unmanned — 


49  V/ILLY  REILLY. 

distracted  me — -beauty  which  I  could  not  resist — which  has 
overcome  me — subdued  me — and  which,  because  it  is 
beyond  my  reach  and  my  deserts,  will  occasion  me  an 
unhappy  life — how  long  soever  that  life  may  last." 

"  Mr.  Eeiily,"  exclaimed  the  Cooleen  Baivn,  "  this — this 
— is — I  am  quite  unprepared  for — I  mean — to  hear  that 
such  noble  and  generous  conduct  to  my  father  should  end 
in  this.  But  it  cannot  be.  Nay,  I  will  not  pretend  to 
misunderstand  you.  After  the  service  you  have  rendered 
to  him  and  to  myself,  it  would  be  uncandid  in  me  and 
unworthy  of  you  to  conceal  the  distress  which  your  words 
have  caused  me." 

"  I  am  scarcely  in  a  condition  to  speak  reasonably  and 
calmly,"  replied  Reilly,  "but  I  cannot  regret  that  I  have 
unconsciously  sacrificed  my  happiness,  when  that  sacrifice 
has  saved  you  from  distress,  and  grief,  and  sorrow.  Now 
that  1  know  you,  I  would  offer — lay  down — my  life,  if  the 
sacrifice  could  save  yours  from  one  moment's  care.  I  have 
often  heard  of  what  love — love  in  its  highest  and  noblest 
sense — is  able  to  do  and  to  suffer  for  the  good  and 
happiness  of  its  object,  but  now  I  know  it." 

She  spoke  not,  or  rather  she  was  unable  to  speak ;  but 
as  she  pulled  out  her  snow-white  handkerchief,  Reilly 
could  observe  the  extraordinary  tremor  of  her  hands ;  the 
face,  too,  was  deadly  pale. 

"  I  am  not  making  love  to  you,  Miss  Folliard,"  he 
added.  "  No,  my  religion,  my  position  in  life,  a  sense  of 
my  own  unworthiness,  would  prevent  that ;  but  I  could  not 
rest  unless  you  knew  that  there  is  one  heart  which,  in  the 
midst  of  unhappiness  and  despair,  can  understand,  appre- 
ciate, and  love  you.     1  urge  no  claim.     I  am  without  hope." 

The  fair  girl  (Cooleen  Bawn)  could  not  restrain  her  tears ; 
but  wept — yes,  she  wept.  "I  was  not  prepared  for  this," 
she  replied.  "I  did  not  think  that  so  short  an  acquaint- 
ance could  have — Oh,  I  know  not  what  to  say — nor  how 
to  act — My  father's  prejudices.     You  are  a  Catholic." 

"  And  will  die  one,  Miss  Folliard." 

"  But  why  should  you  be  unhappy  %  You  do  not  deserve 
to  be  so." 

"  That  is  precisely  what  made  me  ask  you  just  now  if 
you  believed  iu  fate." 


WILLY  REILLY.  47 

"  Oh,  I  know  not  I  cannot  answer  such  a  question ; 
but  why  should  you  be  unhappy,  with  your  brave, 
generous,  and  noble  heart  ?  Surely,  surely,  you  do  not 
deserve  it." 

"  I  said  before,  that  I  have  no  hope,  Miss  Folliard.  I 
shall  carry  with  me  my  love  of  you  through  life ;  it  is  my 
first,  and  I  feel  it  will  be  my  last — it  will  be  the  melan- 
choly light  that  will  burn  in  the  sepulchre  of  my  heart  to 
show  your  image  there.  And  now,  Miss  Folliard,  I  will 
bid  you  farewell.  Your  father  has  proffered  me  hospi- 
tality, but  I  have  not  strength  nor  resolution  to  accept  it. 
You  now  know  my  secret — a  hopeless  passion." 

"  Eeilly, "  she  replied,  weeping  bitterly,  "our  acquaint- 
ance has  been  short — we  have  not  seen  much  of  each 
other,  yet  I  will  not  deny  that  I  believe  you  to  be  all  that 
any  female  heart  could — pardon  me,  I  am  without 
experience — I  know  not  much  of  the  world.  You  have 
travelled,  papa  told  me  last  night — I  do  not  wish  that  you 
should  be  uuhappy,  and,  least  of  all,  that  I,  who  owe  you 
so  much,  should  be  the  occasion  of  it.  No,  you  talk  of  a 
hopeless  passion.  I  know  not  what  I  ought  to  say — but 
to  the  preserver  of  my  father's  life,  aud,  probably,  my  own 
honour,  I  would  say,  be  not — but  why  should  love  be 
separated  from  truth  T  she  said — "  No,  Eeilly,  be  not 
hopeless." 

"  Oh,"  replied  Eeilly,  who  had  gone  over  near  her,  "  but 
my  soul  will  not  be  satisfied  without  a  stronger  affirmation. 
This  moment  is  the  great  crisis  of  my  life  and  happiness. 
I  love  you  beyond  all  the  power  of  language  or  expression. 
You  tremble,  dear  Miss  Folliard,  and  you  weep ;  let  me 
wipe  those  precious  tears  away.  Oh,  would  to  God  that 
you  loved  me !" 

He  caught  her  hand — it  was  not  withdrawn — he  pressed 
it  as  he  had  done  the  evening  before.  The  pressure  was 
returned — his  voice  melted  into  tenderness  that  was  con- 
tagious and  irresistible :  "  Say,  dearest  Helen,  star  of  my 
life  and  of  my  fate,  oh,  only  say  that  I  am  not  indifferent 
to  you." 

They  were  both  standing  near  the  chimney-piece  as  he 
spoke — "  Only  say,"  he  repeated,  "  that  I  am  not  indiffer- 
ent to  you." 


43  WILLY  REILLY. 

"Well,  then,"  she  replied,  "you  are  not  indifferent  to 
me." 

"  One  admission  more,  my  dearest  life,  and  I  am  happy 
for  ever.  You  love  me  %  say  it,  dearest,  say  it — or,  stay, 
whisper  it,  whisper  it — you  love  me  V 

"  1  do,"  she  whisperel,  in  a  burst  of  tears. 


CHAPTER   I\r. 

A    SAPIENT    PROJECT    FOR    OUR    HERO'S    CONVERSION— HIS 
RIVAL  MAKES  HIS  APPEARANCE,  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES. 

TT^X^TE  will  not  attempt  to  describe  the  tumult  of 
M^\p  delight  which  agitated  Rsilly's  heart  on  his  way 
<~&  home,  after  this  tender  interview  with  the  most 
celebrated  Irish  beauty  of  that  period.  The  term  Cooleeu 
Bawn,  in  native  Irish,  has  two  meanings,  both  oC  which 
were  justly  applied  to  her,  and  met  in  her  person.  It 
signifies  fair  locks,  or,  as  it  may  be  pronounced,  fair  girl ; 
and  in  either  sense  is  peculiarly  applicable  to  a  blonde 
beauty,  which  she  was.  The  name  of  Gooleen  Bawn  was 
applied  to  her  by  the  populace,  whose  talent  for  finding 
I  out  and  bestowing  epithets  indicative  either  of  personal 
beauty  or  deformity,  or  of  the  qualities  of  the  mind  or 
character,  be  they  good  or  evil,  is,  in  Ireland,  singularly 
felicitous.  In  the  higher  ranks,  however,  she  was  known 
as  "  the  Lily  of  the  Plains  of  Boyne,"  and  as  such  she  was 
toasted  by  all  parties,  not  only  in  her  own  native  county, 
but  throughout  Ireland,  and  at  the  viceregal  entertainments 
in  the  Castle  of  Dublin.  At  the  time  of  which  we  write, 
the  penal  laws  were  in  operation  against  the  Eoman 
Catholic  population  of  the  country;  and  her  father,  a 
good-hearted  man  by  nature,  was  wordy  and  violent  by 
prejudice,  and  yet  secretly  kind  and  friendly  to  many  of 
that  unhappy  creed,  though  by  no  means  to  all.  It  was 
well  known,  however,  that  in  everything  that  was  generous 
and  good  in  his  character,  or  in  the  discharge  of  his  public 
duties  as  a  magistrate,  he  was  .chiefly  influenced   by  the 


WILLY   REILLY.  49 

benevolent  and  liberal  principles  of  his  daughter,  who  was 
a  general  advocate  for  the  oppressed,  and  to  whom, 
moreover,  he  could  deny  nothing.  This  accounted  for  her 
popularity,  as  it  does  for  the  extraordinary  veneration  and 
affection  with  which  her  name  and  misfortunes  are  men- 
tioned down  to  the  present  day.  The  worst  point  in  her 
father's  character  was  that  he  never  could  be  prevailed  on 
to  forgive  an  injury,  or,  at  least,  any  act  that  he  conceived 
to  be  such — a  weakness  or  a  vice  which  was  the  means  of 
all  his  angelic  and  lovely  daughter's  calamities. 

Eeilly,  though  full  of  fervour  and  enthusiasm,  was  yet 
by  no  means  deficient  in  strong  sense.  On  his  way  home 
he  began  to  ask  himself  in  what  this  overwhelming  passion 
for  Cooleen  Bavm  must  end.  His  religion,  he  was  well 
aware,  placed  an  impassable  gulf  between  them.  Was  it 
then  generous  or  honourable  in  him  to  abuse  the  confidence 
and  hospitality  of  her  father,  by  engaging  the  affections  of 
a  daughter,  on  whose  welfare  his  whole  happiness  was 
placed,  and  to  whom,  moreover,  he  could  not,  without 
committing  an  act  of  apostacy  that  he  abhorred,  ever  be 
united  as  a  husband?  Eeason  and  prudence,  moreover, 
suggested  to  him  the  danger  of  his  position,  as  well  as  the 
ungenerous  nature  of  his  conduct  to  the  grateful  and 
trusting  father.  But,  away  with  reason  and  prudence — 
away  with  everything  but  love.  The  rapture  of  his  heart 
triumphed  over  every  argument;  and,  come  weal  or  woe, 
he  resolved  to  win  the  far-famed  "Star  of  Oonnaught," 
another  epithet  which  she  derived  from  her  wonderful  and 
extraordinary  beauty. 

On  approaching  his  own  house,  he  met  a  woman,  named 
Mary  Mahon,  whose  character  of  a  fortune-teller  was 
extraordinary  in  the  country ;  and  whose  predictions, 
come  from  what  source  they  might,  had  gained  her  a 
reputation  which  filled  the  common  mind  with  awe  and 
fear. 

.  "  Well,  Mary,"  said  he,  "  what  news  from  futurity  % 
And,  by  the  way,  where  is  futurity  1  Because  if  you  don't 
know,"  he  proceeded,  laughing,  "  I  think  I  could  tell  you." 

"Well,"  replied  Mary,  "let  me  hear  it.  Where  is  it, 
Mr.  Eeilly  r 

"  Why,"  he  replied,  "just  at  the  point  of  your  own  nose, 

D 


50  WILLY  REILLY. 

Mary,  and  you  must  admit  it  is  not  a  very  long  one ;  pure 
Milesian,  Mary;  a  good  deal  of  the  saddle  in  its  shape." 

The  woman  stood  and  looked  at  him  for  a  few  moments. 

"My  nose  may  be  short,"  she  replied,  "  but  shorter  will 
be  the  course  of  your  happiness." 

"  Well,  Mary,"  he  said,  "  I  think  as  regards  my  happi- 
ness, that  you  know  as  little  of  it  as  I  do  myself.  If  you 
tell  me  anything  that  has  passed,  I  may  give  you  some 
credit  for  the  future,  but  not  otherwise." 

"Do  you  wish  to  have  your  fortune  tould  then,"  she 
asked,  "  upon  them  terms  ?" 

"  Come,  then,  I  don't  care  if  I  do.  What  has  happened 
me,  for  instance,  within  the  last  forty-eight  hours'?" 

"That  has  happened  you  within  the  last  forty-eight 
hours  that  will  make  her  you  love  the  pity  of  the  world 
before  her  time.  I  see  how  it  will  happen,  for  the  complaint 
I  speak  of  is  in  the  family.  A  living  death  she  will 
have,  and  you  yourself  during  the  same  time  will  have  little 
less." 

"Bat,  what  has  happened  me,  Mary?" 

"  I  needn't  tell  you — you  know  it.  A  proud  heart,  and 
a  joyful  heart,  and  a  lovin'  heart,  you  carry  now,  but  it  will 
be  a  broken  heart  before  long." 

"  Why,  Mary,  this  is  an  evil  prophecy ;  have  you  nothing 
good  to  foretell  V9 

"  If  it's  a  satisfaction  for  you  to  know,  I  will  tell  you  : 
her  love  for  you  is  as  strong,  and  stronger  than  death  itself; 
and  it  is  the  suffering  of  what  is  worse  than  death,  Willy 
Reilly,  that  will  unite  you  both  at  last." 

Keilly  started,  and  after  a  pause,  in  which  he  took  it  for 
granted  that  Mary  spoke  merely  from  one  of  those  shrewd 
conjectures  which  practised  impostors  are  so  frequently  in 
the  habit  of  hazarding,  replied,  "That  won't  do,  Mary; 
you  have  told  me  nothing  yet  that  has  happened  within 
the  last  forty-eight  hours.  I  deny  the  truth  of  what  you 
say." 

"I  won't  be  long  so,  then,  Mr.  Reilly;  you  saved  the 
life  of  the  old  half-mad  squire  of  Corbo.  Yes,  you  saved 
his  life,  and  you  have  taken  his  daughter's !  for  indeed  it 
would  be  better  for  her  to  die  at  wanst  than  to  suffer  what 
will  happen  to  you  and  her." 


WILLY  REILLY.  51 

"  Why,  what  is  to  happen  ?" 

"  You'll  know  it  too  soon,"  she  replied,  "and  there's  no 
use  in  making  you  unhappy.  Good-bye,  Mr.  Eeilly;  if 
you  take  a  friend's  advice  you'll  give  her  up ;  think  no  more 
of  her.  It  may  cost  you  an  aching  heart  to  do  so,  but  by 
doin'  it  you  may  save  her  from  a  great  deal  of  sorrow,  and 
both  of  you  from  a  long  and  heavy  term  of  suffering." 

Eeilly,  though  a  young  man  of  strong  reason  in  the 
ordinary  affairs  of  life,  and  of  a  highly  cultivated  intellect 
besides,  yet  felt  himself  influenced  by  the  gloomy  fore- 
bodings of  this  notorious  woman.  It  is  true  he  saw,  by 
the  force  of  his  own  sagacity,  that  she  had  uttered  nothing 
which  any  person  acquainted  with  the  relative  position  of 
himself  and  Cooleen  JBawn,  and  the  political  circumstances 
of  the  country,  might  not  have  inferred  as  a  natural  and 
probable  consequence.  In  fact  he  had,  on  his  way  home, 
arrived  at  nearly  the  same  conclusion.  Marriage,  as  the 
laws  of  the  country  then  stood,  was  out  of  the  question, 
and  could  not  be  legitmately  effected.  What,  then,  must 
the  consequence  of  this  irresistible,  but  ill-fated  passion  be  % 
An  elopement  to  the  Continent  would  not  only  be  difficult, 
but  dangerous,  if  not  altogether  impossible.  It  was 
obviously  evident  that  Mary  Mahon  had  drawn  her  predic- 
tions from  the  same  circumstances  which  led  himself  to 
similar  conclusions ;  yet  notwithstanding  all  this,  he  felt 
that  her  words  had  thrown  a  foreshadowing  of  calamity 
and  sorrow  over  his  spirit,  and  he  passed  up  to  his  own 
house  in  deep  gloom  and  heaviness  of  heart.  It  is  true  he 
remembered  that  this  same  Mary  Mahon  belonged  to  a 
family  that  had  been  inimical  to  his  house.  She  was  a 
woman  who  had,  in  her  early  life,  been  degraded  by  crime, 
the  remembrance  of  which  had  been  by  no  means  forgotten. 
She  was,  besides,  a  paramour  to  the  Red  Rapparee,  and  he 
attributed  much  of  her  dark  and  ill-boding  prophecy  to  a 
hostile  and  malignant  spirit. 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  probably  about  the 
same  hour,  the  old  squire  having  recruited  himself  by  sleep, 
and  felt  refreshed  and  invigorated,  sent  for  his  daughter  to 
sit  with  him  as  was  her  wont ;  for  indeed,  as  the  reader 
may  now   fully  understand,  his  happiness  altogether  de- 


52  WILLY  REILLY. 

pended  upon  her  society,  and  those  tender  attentions  to  him 
which  constituted  the  chief  solace  of  his  life. 

"  Well,  my  girl,"  said  he,  when  she  entered  the  dining 
room,  for  he  seldom  left  it  unless  when  they  had  company, 
"  Well,  darling,  what  do  you  think  of  this  Mr.  Mahon — 
pooh  ! — no — oh,  Reilly — he  who  saved  my  life,  and,  pro- 
bably, was  the  means  of  rescuing  you  from  worse  than 
death  1     Isn't  he  a  fine — a  noble  young  fellow  V 

"  Indeed,  I  think  so,  papa  ;  he  appears  to  be  a  perfect 
gentleman." 

"  Hang  perfect  gentlemen,  Helen !  they  are,  some  of 
them,  the  most  contemptible  whelps  upon  earth.  Hang 
me,  but  any  fellow  with  a  long-bodied  coat,  tight-kneed 
breeches,  or.  stockings  and  pantaloons,  with  a  watch  in 
each  fob,  and  a  frizzled  wig,  is  considered  a  perfect 
gentleman — a  perfect  puppy,  Helen,  an  accomplished 
trifle.  Reilly,  however,  is  none  of  these,  for  he  is  not 
only  a  perfect  gentleman,  but  a  brave  man,  who  would  not 
hesitate  to  risk  his  life  in  order  to  save  that  of  a  fellow- 
creature,  even  although  he  is  a  Papist,  and  that  fellow- 
creature  a  Protestant." 

"Well,  then,  papa,  I  grant  you,"  she  replied  with  a 
smile,  which  our  readers  will  understand,  "  I  grant  you 
that  he  is  a — ahem  ! — all  you  say." 

"  What  a  pity,  Helen,  that  he  is  a  Papist." 

"  Why  so,  papaV 

"Because  if  he  was  a  staunch  Protestant,  by  the  great 
Deliverer  that  saved  us  from  brass  money,  wooden  shoes, 
and  soforth,  I'd  marry  you  and  him  together.  I'll  tell  you 
what,  Helen,  by  the  memory  of  Schomberg,  I  have  a 
project,  and  it  is  you  that  must  work  it  out." 

"  Well,  papa,"  asked  his  daughter,  putting  the  question 
with  a  smile  and  a  blush,  "  pray  what  is  this  speculation  T 

"  Why,  the  fact  is,  I'll  put  him  into  your  hands  to 
convert  him — make  him  a  staunch  Protestant,  and  take 
him  for  your  pains.  Accomplish  this,  and  let  long-legged, 
knock-kneed  Whitecraft,  and  his  twelve  thousand  a-year, 
go  and  bite  some  other  fool  as  he  bit  me  in  '  Hop-and-go- 
constant.' " 

"  What  are  twelve  thousand  a-year,  papa,  when  you 
know  that  they  could  not  secure  me  happiness  with  such  a 


WILLY  REILLY.  53 

wretch  %  Such  a  union,  sir,  could  not  be — cannot  be — must 
not  be — and  I  will  add,  whilst  I  am  in  the  possession  of 
will  and  reason,  shall  not  be." 

"  Well,  Helen,"  said  her  father,  "  if  you  are  obstinate,  so 
am  I ;  but  I  trust  we  shall  never  have  to  fight  for  it.  We 
must  have  Reilly  here,  and  you  must  endeavour  to  convert 
him  from  Popery.  If  you  succeed,  I'll  give  long-shanks  his 
nunc  dimittis,  and  send  him  home  on  a  trot." 

"  Papa,"  she  replied,  "  this  will  be  useless — it  will  be 
ruin — I  know  Reilly." 

"  The  devil  you  do  !  When,  may  I  ask,  did  you  become 
acquainted  %" 

"I  mean,"  she  replied,  blushing,  "that  I  have  seen 
enough  of  him,  during  his  short  stay  here,  to  feel  satisfied 
that  no  earthly  persuasion,  no  argument,  could  induce  him, 
■at  this  moment  especially,  to  change  his  religion.  And, 
sir,  I  will  add  myself — yes,  I  will  say  for  myself,  dear 
papa,  and  for  Reilly,  too,  that  if  from  any  unbecoming 
motive — if  for  the  sake  of  love  itself,  I  felt  satisfied  that 
he  could  give  up  and  abandon  his  religion,  I  would 
despise  him.  I  should  feel  at  once  that  his  heart  was 
hollow,  and  that  he  was  unworthy  either  of  my  love  or  my 
respect." 

"  Well,  by  the  great  Boyne,  Helen,  you  have  knocked 
my  intellects  up.  I  hope  in  God  you  have  no  Papist 
predilections,  girl.  However,  it's  only  fair  to  give  Reilly 
a  trial — long-legs  is  to  dine  with  us  the  day  after  to- 
morrow— now,  I  will  ask  Reilly  to  meet  him  here — 
perhaps,  if  I  get  an  opportunity,  I  will  sound  him  on  the 
point  myself — or,  perhaps,  you  will.  Will  you  promise  to 
make  the  attempt  1  I'll  take  care  that  you  and  he  shall 
have  an  opportunity." 

"  Indeed,  papa,  I  shall  certainly  mention  the  subject  to 
him." 

"  By  the  soul  of  Schomberg,  Helen,  if  you  do  you'll  con- 
vert him." 

Helen  was  about  to  make  some  good-natured  reply, 
when  the  noise  of  carriage  wheels  was  heard  at  the  hall- 
door,  and  her  father  going  to  the  window,  asked — "  What 
noise  is  that  ?  A  carriage  ! — who  can  it  be  1  Whitecraf  fc, 
by  the  Boyne !     WelL  it  can't  be  helped." 


5i  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  I  will  leave  you,  papa,"  she  said ;  "  I  do  not  wish  to 
see  this  unfeeling  and  repulsive  man,  unless  when  it  is 
unavoidable,  and  in  your  presence."     She  then  withdrew. 

Before  we  introduce  Sir  Eobert  Whitecraft,  we  must  beg 
our  readers  to  accompany  us  to  the  residence  of  that 
worthy  gentleman,  which  was  not  more  than  three  miles 
from  that  of  Eeilly.  Sir  Robert  had  large  estates  and  a 
sumptuous  residence  in  Ireland,  as  well  as  in  England,  and 
had  made  the  former  principally  his  place  of  abode  since 
he  became  enamoured  of  the  celebrated  Cooleen  Bairn.  On 
the  occasion  in  question,  he  was  walking  about  through 
his  grounds  when  a  female  approached  him,  whom  we  beg 
the  reader  to  recognise  as  Mary  Mahon.  This  mischievous 
woman,  implacable  and  without  principle,  had,  with  the 
utmost  secrecy,  served  Sir  Eobert,  and  many  others,  in  a 
capacity  discreditable  alike  to  virtue  and  her  sex,  by  luring 
the  weak  or  the  innocent  within  their  foils. 

"Well,  Mary,"  said  he,  "what  news  in  the  country? 
You,  who  are  always  on  the  move,  should  know." 

"  No  very  good  news  for  you,  Sir  Eobert,"  she  replied. 

"  How  is  that,  Mary  V 

"  Why,  sir,  Willy  Eeilly,  the  famous  Willy  Eeilly,  has 
got  a  footing  in  the  house  of  old  Squire  Folliard." 

"  And  how  can  that  be  bad  news  to  me,  Mary  V 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  she,  with  a  cunning  leer, 
"  but  this  I  know,  that  they  had  a  love  scene  together 
this  very  morning,  and  that  he  kissed  her  very  sweetly 
near  the  chimley-piece." 

Sir  Eobert  Whitecraft  did  not  get  into  a  rage,  he  neither 
cursed  nor  swore,  nor  even  looked  angrily ;  but  he  gave  a 
peculiar  smile,  which  should  be  seen  in  order  to  be  under- 
stood. "  Where  is  your — ahem — your  friend  now  V  he 
asked  ;  and  as  he  did  so,  he  began  to  whistle. 

"  Have  you  another  job  for  him  ?"  she  inquired,  in  her 
turn,  with  a  peculiar  meaning.  "  Whenever  I  fail  by  fair 
play,  he  tries  it  with  foul." 

"  Well,  and  have  not  I  often  saved  his  neck,  as  well  by 
my  influence,  as  by  allowing  him  to  take  shelter  under  my 
roof  whenever  he  was  hard  pressed  ?" 

"  I  know  that,  your  honour ;  and  hasn't  he  and  I  often 
sarved  you,  on  the  other  hand  I" 


wills:  reilly.  55 

"I  grant  it,  Molly;  but  that  is  a  matter  known  only  to 
ourselves.  You  know  I  have  the  reputation  of  being  very 
correct  and  virtuous." 

"  I  know  you  have,"  said  Molly,  *t  with  most  people,  but 
not  with  all." 

"Well,  Molly,  you  know,  as  far  as  we  are  concerned, 
one  good  turn  deserves  another.  Where  is  your  friend 
now,  I  ask  again  ?" 

"  Why,  then,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  it's  more  than  I 
know  at  the  present  speaking." 

"Follow  me,  then,"  replied  the  wily  baronet,  "I  wish 
you  to  see  him;  he  is  now  concealed  in  my  house;  but, 
first,  mark  me,  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  what  you  have 
just  repeated." 

"  It's  as  true  as  Gospel  for  all  that,"  she  replied ;  "  and 
if  you  wish  to  hear  how  I  found  it  out  I'll  tell  you." 

"  Well,"  said  the  baronet,  calmly,  "  let  us  hear  it." 

"  You  must  know,"  she  proceeded,  "that  I  have  a  cousin, 
one  Betty  Beatty,  who  is  a  housemaid  in  the  squire's. 
Now  this  same  Betty  Beatty  was  in  the  front  parlour — for 
the  squire  always  dines  in  the  back — and  from  a  kind  of 
natural  curiosity  she's  afflicted  with,  she  puts  her  ear  to 
the  keyhole,  and  afterwards  her  eye.  I  happened  to  be 
at  the  squire's  at  the  time,  and,  as  blood  is  thicker  than 
wather,  and  as  she  knew  I  was  a  friend  of  yours,  she  tould 
me  what  she  had  both  heard  and  seen,  what  they  said,  and 
how  he  kissed  her." 

Sir  Kobert  seemed  very  calm,  and  merely  said,  "Follow 
me  into  the  house ;"  which  she  accordingly  did,  and  re- 
mained in  consultation  with  him  and  the  Red  Rapparee  for 
nearly  an  hour,  after  which  Sir  Eobert  ordered  his  carriage, 
and  went  to  pay  a  visit,  as  we  have  seen,  at  Corbo  Castle. 

Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  on  entering  the  parlour,  shook 
hands  as  a  matter  of  course  with  the  squire.  At  this 
particular  crisis,  the  vehement  but  whimsical  old  man, 
whose  mind  was  now  full  of  another  project  with  reference 
to  his  daughter,  experienced  no  great  gratification  from 
this  visit,  and,  as  the  baronet  shook  hands  with  him,  he 
exclaimed  somewhat  testily : 

"  Hang  it,  Sir  Robert,  why  don't  you  shake  hands  like  a 
man  1    You  put  that  long  yellow  paw  of  yours,  all  skin  and 


56  WILLY  REILLY. 

bones,  into  a  man's  hand,  and  there  you  let  it  lie.  But,  no 
matter,  every  one  to  his  nature.  Be  seated,  and  tell  me 
what  news.     Are  the  Papists  quiet  ?' 

u  There  is  little  news  stirring,  sir;  at  least,  if  there  be,  it 
does  not  come  my  way,  with  the  exception  of  this  report 
about  yourself,  which  I  hope  is  not  true — that  there  was 
an  attempt  made  on  your  life  yesterday  evening."  Whilst 
Sir  Eobert  spoke  he  approached  a  looking-glass,  before 
which  he  presented  himself,  and  commenced  adjusting  his 
dress,  especially  his  wig,  a  piece  of  vanity  which  nettled  the 
quick  and  irritable  feelings  of  the  squire  exceedingly.  The 
inference  he  drew  was,  that  this  wealthy  suitor  of  his 
daughter  felt  more  about  his  own  personal  appearance 
before  her  than  about  the  dreadful  fate  which  he  himself 
had  so  narrowly  escaped. 

"  What  signifies  that,  my  dear  fellow,  when  your  wig  is 
out  of  balance  %  it's  a  little  to  the  one  side,  like  the  ear  of 
an  empty  jug,  as  they  say." 

"  Why,  sir,"  replied  the  baronet,  "  the  fact  is,  that  I  felt 
— hum ! — hum  ! — so  much — so  much — a — anxiety — -hum  ! 
— to  see  you  and — a — a — to  know  all  about  it — that — a — 
I  didn't  take  time  to — a — look  to  my  dress.  And  besides, 
as  I — hum  ! — expect  to  have — a — the  pleasure  of  an  inter- 
view with  Miss  Folliard — a — hum ! — now  that  I'm  here — I 
feel  anxious  to  appear  to  the  best  advantage — a — hum  !" 

While  speaking  he  proceeded  with  the  re-adjustment  of 
his  toilet  at  the  large  mirror,  an  operation  which  appeared 
to  constitute  the  great  object  on  which  his  mind  was 
engaged,  the  affair  of  the  squire's  life  or  death  coming  in 
only  parenthetically,  or  as  a  consideration  of  minor  import- 
ance. 

In  height  Sir  Kobert  Whitecraft  was  fully  six  feet  two 
but  beiug  extremely  thin  and  lank,  and  to  all  appearance 
utterly  devoid  of  substance,  and  of  everything  like  propor- 
tion, he  appeared  much  taller  than  even  nature  had  made 
him.  His  forehead  was  low,  and  its  whole  character 
felonious ;  his  eyes  were  small,  deep  set,  and  cunning ;  his 
nose  was  hooked ;  his  mouth  was  wide,  but  his  lips  thin  to  a 
miracle,  and  such  as  always  are  to  be  found  under  the  nose 
of  a  miser  ;  as  for  a  chin,  we  could  not  conscientiously  allow 
him  any ;  his  under  lip  sloped  off  until  it  met  the  throat 


WILLY  REILLY.  07 

with  a  curve  nob  larger  than  that  of  an  oyster-shell,  which, 
when  open  to  the  tide,  his  mouth  very  much  resembled. 
As  for  his  neck,  it  was  so  long,  that  no  portion  of  dress  at 
that  time  discovered  was  capable  of  covering  more  than 
one-third  of  it ;  so  that  there  were  always  two  parts  out 
of  three  left  stark  naked,  and  helplessly  exposed  to  the 
elements.  Whenever  he  smiled  he  looked  as  if  he  was 
about  to  weep.  As  the  squire  said,  he  was  dreadfully 
round-shouldered — had  dangling  arms,  that  kept  flapping 
about  him  as  if  they  were  moved  by  some  machinery  that 
had  gone  out  of  order — was  close-kneed — had  the  true 
telescopic  leg — and  feet  that  brought  a  very  large  portion 
of  him  into  the  closest  possible  contact  with  the  earth. 

"Are you  succeeding,  Sir  Eobert1?"  inquired  the  old  man, 
sarcastically,  "  because,  if  you  are,  I  swear  you're  achieving 
wonders,  considering  the  slight  materials  you  have  to  work 
upon." 

"Ah!  sir,"  replied  the  baronet,  "I  perceive  you  are  in 
one  of  your  biting  humours  to-day." 

"  Biting !"  exclaimed  the  other.  "  Egad,  it's  very  well  for 
most  of  your  sporting  acquaintances  that  you're  free  from 
hydrophobia ;  if  you  were  not,  I'd  have  died  pleasantly 
between  two  feather  beds,  leaving  my  child  an  orphan  long 
before  this.     Egad,  you  hit  me  to  some  purpose." 

"  Oh,  ay,  you  allude  to  the  affair  of  '  Hop-and-go-constant' 
and  '  Pat  the  Spanker ;'  but  you  know,  my  dear  sir,  I  gave 
you  heavy  boot ;"  and  as  he  spoke,  he  pulled  up  the  lappels 
of  his  coat,  and  glanced  complacently  at  the  profile  of  his 
face  and  person  in  the  glass. 

"  Pray,  is  Miss  Folliard  at  home,  sir  ?" 

"Again  Pm  forgotten,"  thought  the  squire.  "Ah,  what 
an  affectionate  son-in-law  he'd  make!  What  a  tender 
husband  for  Helen  !  Why,  hang  the  fellow,  he  has  a  heart 
for  nobody  but  himself. — She  is  at  home,  Sir  Robert,  but 
the  truth  is,  I  don't  think  it  would  become  me,  as  a  father 
anxious  for  the  happiness  of  his  child,  and  that  child  an 
only  one,  to  sacrifice  her  happiness — the  happiness  of  her 
whole  life — to  wealth  or  ambition.  You  know  she  herself 
entertains  a  strong  prejudice — no,  that's  not  the  word — " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir  ;  that  is  the  word  j  her  distaste 
to  me  is  a  prejudice,  and  nothing  else." 


58  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  No,  Sir  Robert ;  it  is  not  the  word.  Antipathy  is  the 
word.  Now,  I  tell  you  once  for  all,  that  I  will  not  force 
my  child." 

"  This  change,  Mr.  Folliard,"  observed  the  baronet,  "  is 
somewhat  of  the  suddenest.  Has  anything  occurred  on  my 
part  to  occasion  it  V 

"  Perhaps  I  may  have  other  views  for  her,  Sir  Robert." 

"  That  may  be ;  but  is  such  conduct  either  fair  or 
honourable  towards  me,  Mr.  Folliard  1  Have  I  got  a  rival, 
and  if  so,  who  is  he  ?  " 

'•'  Oh,  I  wouldn't  tell  you  that  for  the  world." 

"  And  why  not,  pray  ?" 

"  Because,"  replied  the  squire,  if  you  found  out  who  he 
was,  you'd  be  hanged  for  cannibalism." 

"  I  really  don't  understand  you,  Mr.  Folliard.  Excuse 
me,  but  it  would  seem  to  me  that  something  has  put  you 
into  no  very  agreeable  humour  to-day." 

"  You  don't  understand  me  !  Why,  Sir  Robert,"  replied 
the  other,  "I  know  you  so  well  that  if  you  heard  the 
name  of  your  rival,  you  would  first  kill  him,  then  powder 
him,  and,  lastly,  eat  him.  You  are  such  a  terrible  fellow 
that  you  care  about  no  man's  life,  not  even  about  mine." 

Now  it  was  to  this  very  point  that  the  calculating 
baronet  wished  to  bring  him.  The  old  man,  he  knew,  was 
whimsical,  capricious,  and  in  the  habit  of  taking  all  his 
strongest  and  most  enduring  resolutions  from  sudden  con- 
trasts produced  by  some  mistake  of  his  own,  or  from 
some  discovery  made  to  him  on  the  part  of  others. 

"  As  to  your  life,  Mr.  Folliard,  let  me  assure  you," 
replied  Sir  Robert,  "  that  there  is  no  man  living  prices  it, 
and  let  me  add,  your  character,  too,  more  highly  than  I 
do  ;  but,  my  dear  sir,  your  life  was  never  in  danger." 

"  Never  in  danger  !  what  do  you  mean,  Sir  Robert1?  I 
tell  you,  sir,  that  the  murdering  miscreant,  the  Red  Rap- 
paree,  had  a  loaded  gun  levelled  at  me  last  evening  after 
dark." 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  the  other,  "  I  am  well  aware  of  it, 
and  you  were  rescued  just  in  the  nick  of  time." 

"True  enough,"  said  the  squire,  "just  in  the  nick  of 
time — by  that  glorious  young  fellow, — a — a — yes — Reilly, 
Willy  Reilly." 


WILLY  REILLY.  59 

"  This  Willy  Eeilly,  sir,  is  a  very  accomplished  person, 
I  think." 

"A  gentleman,  Sir  Eobert,  every  inch  of  him,  and  as 
handsome  and  fine-looking  a  young  fellow  as  ever  I  laid 
my  eyes  upon." 

"  He  was  educated  on  the  Continent  by  the  Jesuits." 

"  No !"  replied  the  squire,  dreadfully  alarmed  at  this  piece 
of  information,  "  he  was  not ;  by  the  great  Boyne,  he  wasn't." 

This  mighty  asseveration,  however,  was  exceedingly 
feeble  in  moral  strength  and  energy,  for,  in  point  of  fact, 
it  came  out  of  the  squire's  lips  more  in  the  shape  of  a 
question  than  an  oath. 

"  It  is  unquestionably  true,  sir,"  said  the  baronet ;  "  ask 
himself,  and  he  will  admit  it." 

"  Well,  and  granting  that  he  was,"  replied  the  squire, 
"  what  else  could  he  do,  when  the  laws  would  nob  permit 
of  his  being  educated  here  1  I  speak  not  against  the  laws, 
God  forbid,  but  of  his  individual  case." 

'•'We  are  travelling  from  the  point,  sir,"  returned  the 
baronet.  "  I  was  observing  that  Eeilly  is  an  accomplished 
person,  as,  indeed,  every  Jesuit  is.  Be  that  as  it  may,  I 
again  beg  to  assure  you  that  your  life  stood  in  no  risk." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Sir  Eobert.  You're  a  perfect 
oracle ;  by  the  great  Deliverer  from  Pope  and  Popery, 
wooden  shoes,  and  soforth,  only  that  Eeilly  made  his 
appearance  at  that  moment  I  was  a  dead  man." 

"  Not  the  slightest  danger,  Mr.  Folliard.  I  am  aware  of 
that,  and  of  the  whole  Jesuitical  plot  from  the  beginning : 
base,  ingenious,  but  diabolical  as  it  was." 

The  squire  rose  up  and  looked  at  him  for  a  minute, 
without  speaking,  then  sat  down  again,  and,  a  second  time, 
was  partially  up,  but  resumed  his  seat. 

"  A  plot,"  he  exclaimed,  "  a  plot,  Sir  Eobert !   What  plot  f 

"  A  plot,  Mr.  Folliard,  for  the  purpose  of  creating  an 
opportunity  to  make  your  acquaintance,  and  of  ingratiating 
himself  into  the  good  graces  and  affections  of  your  lovely 
daughter ;  a  plot  for  the  purpose  of  marrying  her." 

The  squire  seemed,  for  a  moment,  thunder-struck ;  but, 
in  a  little  time  he  recovered.  "Marrying  her!"  he  ex- 
claimed ;  "  that,  you  know,  could  not  be  done,  unless  he 
turned  Protestant." 


CO  WILLY  REILLY. 

It  was  now  time  for  the  baronet  to  feel  thunder-stricken. 

"  He  turn  Protestant !  I  don't  understand  you,  Mr. 
Folliard.  Could  any  change  on  Reiliy's  part  involve  such  a 
probability  as  a  marriage  between  him  and  your  daughter  T 

"I  can't  believe  it  was  a  plot,  Sir  Robert,"  said  the 
squire,  shifting  the  question,  "nor  I  won't  believe  it.  There 
was  too  much  truth  and  sincerity  in  his  conduct.  And, 
what  is  more,  my  house  would  have  been  attacked  last 
night ;  I,  myself,  robbed  and  murdered,  and  my  daughter 
— my  child,  carried  off,  only  for  him.  Nay,  indeed,  it  was 
partially  attacked,  but  when  the  villains  found  us  prepared, 
they  decamped ;  but,  as  for  marriage,  he  could  not  marry 
my  daughter,  I  say  again,  so  long  as  he  remains  a  Papist." 

"  Unless  he  might  prevail  on  her  to  turn  Papist." 

u  By  the  life  of  my  body,  Sir  Eobert,  I  won't  stand  this. 
Did  you  come  here,  sir,  to  insult  me  and  to  drive  me  into 
madness  1  What  devil  could  have  put  it  into  your  head, 
that  my  daughter,  sir,  or  any  one  with  a  drop  of  my  blood 
in  their  veins  to  the  tenth  generation,  could  ever,  for  a 
single  moment,  think  of  turning  Papist]  Sir,  I  hoped 
that  you  would  have  respected  the  name  both  of  my 
daughter  and  myself,  and  have  forborne  to  add  this  double 
insult  both  to  her  and  me.  The  insolence  even  t^  dream 
of  imputing  such  an  act  to  her  I  cannot  overlook.  You 
yourself,  if  you  could  gain  a  point  or  feather  your  nest  by 
it,  are  a  thousand  times  much  more  likely  to  turn  Papist 
than  either  of  us.  Apologise  instantly,  sir,  or  leave  my 
house." 

"1  can  certainly  apologise,  Mr.  Folliard,"  replied  the 
baronet,  "  and  with  a  good  conscience,  inasmuch  as  I  had 
not  the  most  remote  intention  of  offending  you,  much  less 
Miss  Folliard — I  accordingly  do  so  promptly  and  at  once ; 
but  as  for  my  allegations  against  Reilly,  I  am  in  a  position 
to  establish  their  truth  in  the  clearest  manner,  and  to 
prove  to  you  that  there  wasn't  a  single  robber  nor  Rap- 
paree  either  at  or  about  your  house  last  night,  with  the 
exception  of  Reilly  and  his  gang.  If  there  were,  why  were 
they  neither  heard  nor  seen  V 

"One  of  them  was — the  Red  Rapparee  himself." 

"  Do  not  be  deceived,  Mr.  Folliard  ;  did  you  yourself  or 
any  of  your  family  or  household  see  him  T 


WILLY  REILLY.  61 

"  Why  no,  certainly,  we  did  not;  I  admit  that." 

"  Yes,  and  you  will  admit  more  soon.  I  shall  prove  the 
whole  conspiracy." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  then  f 

"Simply  because  the  matter  must  be  brought  about 
with  great  caution.  You  must  allow  me  a  few  days,  say 
three  or  four,  and  the  proofs  shall  be  given." 

"  Very  well,  Sir  Robert,  but  in  the  meantime  I  shall  not 
throw  Reilly  overboard." 

"  Could  I  not  be  permitted  to  pay  my  respects  to  Miss 
Folliard  before  I  go,  sir  V  asked  Sir  Robert. 

"  Don't  insist  upon  it,"  replied  her  father ;  "  you  know 
perfectly  well  that  she — that  you  are  no  favourite  with 
her." 

"  Nothing  on  earth,  sir,  grieves  me  so  much,"  said  the 
baronet,  affecting  a  melancholy  expression  of  countenance, 
which  was  ludicrous  to  look  at. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  old  man,  "  as  you  can't  see  her 
now,  come  and  meet  Reilly  here  at  dinner  the  day  after 
to-morrow,  and  you  shall  have  that  pleasure." 

"  It  will  be  with  pain,  sir,  that  I  shall  force  myself  into 
that  person's  society  ;  however,  to  oblige  you,  I  shall  do  it." 

"  Consider,  pray  consider,  Sir  Robert,"  replied  the  old 
squire,  all  his  pride  of  family  glowing  strong  within  him, 
"  just  consider  that  my  table,  sir,  and  my  countenance,  sir, 
and  my  sense  of  gratitude,  sir,  are  a  sufficient  guarantee  to 
the  worth  and  respectability  of  any  one  whom  I  may  ask  to 
my  house.  And,  Sir  Robert,  in  addition  to  that,  just  reflect 
that  I  ask  him  to  meet  my  daughter,  and,  if  I  don't  mis- 
take, I  think  I  love,  honour,  and  respect  her  nearly  as  much 
as  I  do  you.     Will  you  come,  then,  or  will  you  not  l" 

"  Unquestionably,  sir,  I  shall  do  myself  the  honour." 

"Very  well,"  replied  the  old  squire,  clearing  up  at  once 
— undergoing,  in  fact,  one  of  those  rapid  and  unaccountable 
changes  which  constituted  so  prominent  a  portion  of  his 
character.  "Very  well,  Bobby;  good-bye,  my  boy,  I  am 
not  angry  with  you ;  shake  hands,  and  curse  Popery." 

Until  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  the  two  rivals 
were  to  meet,  Miss  Folliard  began  to  entertain  a  dreadful 
apprehension  that  the  fright  into  which  the  Red  Rapparee 
had  thrown  her  father  was  likely  to  terminate,  ere  long,  in 


02  WILLY   KEILLY. 

insanity.  The  man,  at  best,  was  eccentric,  and  fall  of  the 
most  unaccountable  changes  of  temper  and  purpose,  hot, 
passionate,  vindictive,  generous,  implacable,  and  benevolent. 
What  he  had  seldom  been  accustomed  to  do,  he  commenced 
soliloquising  aloud,  and  talking  to  himself  in  such  broken 
hints  and  dark  mysterious  allusions,  drawing  from  unknown 
premises  such  odd  and  ludicrous  inferences ;  at  one  time 
brushing  himself  up  in  Scripture ;  at  another  moment 
questioning  his  daughter  about  her  opinion  on  Popery — 
sometimes  dealing  about  political  and  religious  allusions 
with  great  sarcasm,  in  which  he  was  a  master  when  he 
wished,  and  sometimes  with  considerable  humour  of  illus- 
tration, so  far,  at  least,  as  he  could  be  understood. 

"  Confound  these  Jesuits,"  said  he,  "  I  wish  they  were 
scourged  out  of  Europe.  Every  man  of  them  is  sure  to  put 
his  finger  in  the  pie,  and  then  into  his  mouth  to  taste  what 
it's  like  ;  not  so  the  parsons — Hallo  !  where  am  1 1  Take 
care,  old  Folliard;  take  care,  you  old  dog;  what  have  you 
to  say  in  favour  of  these  same  parsons — lazy,  negligent 
fellows,  who  snore  and  slumber,  feed  well,  clothe  well,  and 
think  first  of  number  one  1  'Egad,  I'm  in  a  mess  between 
them.  One  makes  a  slave  of  you,  and  the  other  allows  you 
to  play  the  tyrant.  A  plague,  as  I  heard  a  fellow  say  in  a 
play  once,  a  plague  o'  both  your  houses  :  if  you  paid  more 
attention  to  your  duties,  and  scrambled  less  for  wealth  and 
power,  and  this  world's  honours,  you  would  not  turn  it 
upside  down  as  you  do. — Helen !" 

"Well,  papa." 

11 1  have  doubts  whether  I  shall  allow  you  to  sound  Reilly 
on  Popery." 

"I  would  rather  decline  it,  sir." 

"I'll  tell  you  what;  I'll  see  Andy  Cummiskey — Andy's 
opinion  is  good  on  anything."  And  accordingly  he  pro- 
ceeded to  see  his  confidential  old  servant.  With  this 
purpose,  and  in  his  own  original  manner,  he  went  about 
consulting  every  servant  under  his  roof  upon  their  respec- 
tive notions  of  Popery,  as  he  called  it,  and  striving  to  allure 
them,  at  one  time  by  kindness,  and  at  another  by  threat- 
ening them,  into  an  avowal  of  its  idolatrous  tendency. 
Those  to  whom  he  spoke,  however,  knew  very  little  about 
it ;  and  like  those  of  all  creeds  in  a  similar  predicament,  he 


WILLY  REILLY.  63 

found  that,  in  proportion  to  their  ignorance  of  its  doctrines, 
arose  the  vehemence  and  sincerity  of  their  defence  of  it. 
This,  however,  is  human  nature,  and  we  do  not  see  how 
the  learned  can  condemn  it.  Upon  the  day  appointed  for 
dinner,  only  four  sat  down  to  it,  that  is  to  say,  the  squire, 
his  daughter,  Sir  Eobert  Whitecraft,  and  Reilly.  They 
had  met  in  the  drawing-room  some  time  before  its  announce- 
ment, and  as  the  old  man  introduced  the  two  latter,  Reilly's 
bow  was  courteous  and  gentlemanly;  whilst  that  of  the 
baronet,  who  not  only  detested  Reilly  with  the  hatred  of  a 
demon,  but  resolved  to  make  him  feel  the  superiority  of 
rank  and  wealth,  was  frigid,  supercilious,  and  offensive. 
Reilly  at  once  saw  this,  and,  as  he  knew  not  that  the 
baronet  was  in  possession  of  his  secret,  he  felt  his  ill-bred 
insolence  the  more  deeply.  He  was  too  much  of  a  gentle- 
man, however,  and  too  well  acquainted  with  the  principles 
and  forms  of  good-breeding,  to  seem  to  notice  it  in  the 
slightest  degree.  The  old  squire,  at  this  time,  had  not  at 
all  given  Reilly  up,  but  still  his  confidence  in  him  was  con- 
siderably shaken .  He  saw,  moreover,  that  notwithstanding 
what  had  occurred  at  their  last  interview,  the  baronet  had 
forgotten  the  respect  due  both  to  himself  and  his  daughter ; 
and,  as  he  had,  amidst  all  his  eccentricities,  many  strong 
touches  of  the  old  Irish  gentleman  about  him,  he  resolved 
to  punish  him  for  his  ungentlemanly  deportment.  Accord- 
ingly, when  dinner  was  announced  he  said : 

"  Mr.  Reilly,  you  will  give  Miss  Folliard  your  arm." 

We  do  not  say  that  the  worthy  baronet  squinted,  but 
there  was  a  bad  vindictive  look  in  his  small  cunning  eyes, 
which,  as  they  turned  upon  Reilly,  was  ten  times  more  re- 
pulsive than  the  worst  squint  that  ever  disfigured  a  human 
countenance.  To  add  to  his  chagrin,  too,  the  squire  came 
out  with  a  bit  of  his  usual  sarcasm. 

"  Come,  baronet,"  said  he,  "  here's  my  arm.  I  am  the 
old  man,  and  you  are  the  old  lady ;  and  now  for  dinner." 

In  the  meantime,  Reilly  and  the  Cooleen  Bawn  had  gone 
far  enough  in  advance  to  be  in  a  condition  to  speak  with- 
out being  heard. 

"That,"  said  she,  "is  the  husband  my  father  intends 
for  me,  or,  rather,  did  intend ;  for,  do  you  know,  that  you 
have  found  such  favour  in  his  sight,  that — that — "   she 


61  WILLY   REILLY. 

hesitated,  and  Keilly,  looking  into  her  face,  saw  that  she 
blushed  deeply,  and  he  felt  by  her  arm  that  her  whole 
frame  trembled  with  emotion. 

"  Proceed,  dearest  love,"  said  he,  "  what  is  it  P 

"I  have  not  time  to  tell  you  now,"  she  replied,  "but 
he  mentioned  a  project  to  me,  which,  if  it  could  be  accom- 
plished, would  seal  both  your  happiness  and  mine  for  ever. 
Your  religion  is  the  only  obstacle." 

"And  that,  my  love,"he  replied,  "is  an  insurmountable  one." 

"  Alas !  I  feared  as  much,"  she  replied,  sighing  bitterly 
as  she  spoke. 

The  old  squire  took  the  head  of  the  table,  and  requested 
Sir  Robert  to  take  the  foot ;  his  daughter  was  at  his  right 
hand,  and  Reilly  opposite  her,  by  which  means,  although 
denied  any  confidential  use  of  the  tongue,  their  eyes  en- 
joyed very  gratifying  advantages,  and  there  passed  between 
them  occasionally  some  of  those  rapid  glances  which,  espe- 
cially when  lovers  are  under  surveillance,  concentrate  in 
their  lightning  flash  more  significance,  more  hope,  more 
joy,  and  more  love,  than  ever  was  conveyed  by  the  longest 
and  tenderest  gaze  of  affection  under  other  circumstances. 

"  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  the  squire,  "  I'm  told  that  you  are  a 
very  well  educated  man;  indeed,  the  thing  is  evident. 
What,  let  me  ask,  is  your  opinion  of  education  in  general  V 

"  Why,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  "  I  think  there  can  be  but 
one  opinion  about  it.  Without  education  a  people  can 
never  be  moral,  prosperous,  or  happy.  Without  it,  how 
are  they  to  learn  the  duties  of  this  life,  or  those  still  more 
important  ones  that  prepare  them  for  a  better '{" 

"  You  would  entrust  the  conduct  and  control  of  it,  I 
presume,  sir,  to  the  clergy  V  asked  Sir  Robert,  insidiously. 

"  I  would  give  the  priest  such  control  in  education  as 
becomes  his  position,  which  is  not  only  to  educate  the 
youth,  but  to  instruct  the  man,  in  all  the  duties  enjoined 
by  religion." 

The  squire  now  gave  a  triumphant  look  at  the  baronet, 
and  a  very  kind  and  gracious  one  at  Reilly. 

11  Pray,  sir,"  continued  the  baronet,  in  his  cold,  super- 
cilious manner,  "  from  the  peculiarity  of  your  views,  I  feel 
anxious,  if  you  will  pardon  me,  to  ask  where  you  yourself 
have  received  your  very  accomplished  education  V 


WILLY  REILLY.  C5 

"  Whether  my  education,  sir,  has  been  an  accomplished 
one  or  otherwise,"  replied  Reilly,  "  is  a  point,  I  apprehend, 
beyond  the  reach  of  any  opportunity  you  ever  had  to  know. 
I  received  my  education,  sir,  such  as  it  is,  and  if  it  be  not 
better  the  fault  is  my  own,  in  a  Jesuit  seminary,  on  the 
Continent." 

It  was  now  the  baronet's  time  to  triumph,  and  indeed 
the  bitter  glancing  look  he  gave  at  the  squire,  although  it 
was  intended  for  Reilly,  resembled  that  which  one  of  the 
more  cunning  and  ferocious  beasts  of  prey  makes  previous 
to  its  death-spring  upon  its  victim.  The  old  man's  counte- 
nance instantly  fell.  He  looked  with  surprise  not  un- 
mingled  with  sorrow  and  distrust  at  Eeilly,  a  circumstance 
which  did  not  escape  his  daughter,  who  could  not,  for  the 
life  of  her,  avoid  fixing  her  eyes,  lovelier  even  in  the  dis- 
dain they  expressed,  with  an  indignant  look  at  the  baronet. 

The  latter,  however,  felt  resolved  to  bring  his  rival  still 
further  within  the  toils  he  was  preparing  for  him,  an 
object  which  Reilly's  candour  very  much  facilitated. 

"Mr.  Reilly,"  said  the  squire,  "I  was  not  prepared  to 
hear — a — a — hem  ! — God  bless  me,  it  is  very  odd,  very 
deplorable,  very  much  to  be  regretted,  indeed !" 

"  What  is,  sir  f  asked  Reilly. 

«  Why,  that  you  should  be  a  Jesuit.  I  must  confess  I 
was  not — ahem  ! — God  bless  me.  I  can't  doubt  your  own 
word,  certainly." 

"  Not  on  this  subject,"  observed  the  baronet,  coolly. 

"On  NO  subject,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  looking  him 
sternly,  and  with  an  indignation  that  was  kept  within 
bounds  only  by  his  respect  for  the  other  parties,  and  the 
roof  that  covered  him  ;  "  on  no  subject,  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft,  is  my  word  to  be  doubted." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  replied  the  other,  "I  did  not 
say  so." 

"  I  will  neither  have  it  said,  sir,  nor  insinuated,"  rejoined 
Reilly.  "I  received  my  education  on  the  Continent,  be- 
cause the  laws  of  this  country  prevented  me  from  receiving 
it  here.  I  was  placed  in  a  Jesuit  seminary,  not  by  my  own 
choice,  but  by  that  of  my  father,  to  whom  I  owed  obedience. 
Your  oppressive  laws,  sir,  first  keep  us  ignorant,  and  then 
punish  us  for  the  crimes  which  that  ignorance  produces." 

E 


C5  WILLY   REILLY. 

"Do  you  call  the  laws  of  the  country  oppressive  ?"  asked 
the  baronet,  with  as  much  of  a  sneer  as  cowardice  would 
permit  him  to  indulge  in. 

"  I  do,  sir,  and  ever  will  consider  them  so,  at  least  so 
long  as  they  deprive  myself  and  my  Catholic  fellow-country- 
men of  their  civil  and  religious  rights." 

"That  is  strong  language,  though,"  observed  the  other, 
"  at  this  time  of  day." 

"Mr.  Reilly,"  said  the  squire,  "you  seem  to  be  very 
much  attached  to  your  religion." 

"Just  as  much  as  I  am  to  my  life,  sir,  and  would  as 
soon  give  up  the  one  as  the  other." 

The  squire's  countenance  literally  became  pale,  his  last 
hope  was  gone,  and  so  great  was  his  agitation,  that,  in 
bringing  a  glass  of  wine  to  his  lips,  his  hand  trembled  to 
such  a  degree  that  he  spilled  a  part  of  it.  This,  however, 
was  not  all.  A  settled  gloom — a  morose,  dissatisfied 
expression  soon  overshadowed  his  features,  from  which 
disappeared  all  trace  of  that  benignant,  open,  and  friendly 
hospitality  towards  Reilly,  that  had  hitherto  beamed  from 
them.  He  and  the  baronet  exchanged  glances  of  whose 
import,  if  Reilly  was  ignorant,  not  so  his  beloved  Coolesn 
Bawn.  For  the  remainder  of  the  evening,  the  squire 
treated  Reilly  with  great  coolness,  always  addressing  him 
as  Mister,  and  evidently  contemplating  him  in  a  spirit 
which  partook  of  the  feeling  that  animated  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft. 

Helen  rose  to  withdraw,  and  contrived  by  a  sudden 
glance  at  the  door,  and  another  as  quick  in  the  direction 
of  the  drawing-room,  to  let  her  lover  know  that  she  wished 
him  to  follow  her  soon.  The  hint  was  not  lost,  for  in  less 
than  half-an-hour  Reilly,  who  was  of  very  temperate 
habits,  joined  her  as  she  had  hinted. 

"Reilly,"  said  she,  as  she  ran  to  him,  " dearest  Reilly ! 
there  is  little  time  to  be  lost.  I  perceive  that  a  secret 
understanding  respecting  you  exists  between  papa  and 
that  detestable  baronet.  Be  on  your  guard,  especially 
against  the  latter,  who  has  evidently,  ever  since  we  sat 
down  to  dinner,  contrived  to  bring  papa  round  to  his  own 
way  of  thinking,  as  he  will  ultimately,  perhaps,  to  worse 
designs   and    darker   purposes.     Above    all    things,   speak 


WILLY   REILLY.  G7 

nothing  that  can  be  construed  against  the  existing  laws.  I 
find  that  danger,  if  not  positive  injury,  awaits  you.  I 
shall,  at  any  risk,  give  you  warning." 

"  At  no  risk,  beloved !" 

"  At  every  risk — at  all  risks,  clearest  Eeilly !  Nay,  more, 
— whatever  danger  may  encompass  you  shall  be  shared  by 
me,  even  at  the  risk  of  my  life,  or  I  shall  extricate  you  out 
of  it.  But,  perhaps,  you  will  not  be  faithful  to  me.  If  so, 
I  shudder  to  think  what  might  happen." 

"Listen,"  said  Reilly,  taking  her  by  the  hand,  " In  the 
presence  of  Heaven,  I  am  yours,  and  yours  only,  until  death  /" 

She  repeated  his  words,  after  which  they  had  scarcely 
taken  their  seats  when  the  squire  and  Sir  Robert  entered 
the  dra win 2r- room. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  PLOT  AND   THE   VICTIMS. 

N  entering  the  room  along  with  the  squire,  Sir 
Robert  found  the  Cooleen  Baicn  at  the  spinnet. 
^^  Taking  his  place  at  the  end  of  it,  so  as  that  he 
could  gain  a  full  view  of  her  countenance,  he  thought  he 
could  observe  her  complexion  considerably  heightened  in 
colour,  and  from  her  his  glance  was  directed  to  Reilly. 
The  squire,  on  the  other  hand,  sat  dull,  silent,  and  unsoci- 
able, unless  when  addressing  himself  to  the  baronet,  and 
immediately  his  genial  manner  returned  to  him. 

With  his  usual  impetuosity,  however,  when  labouring 
under  what  he  supposed  to  be  a  sense  of  injury,  he  soon 
brought  matters  to  a  crisis. 

"  Sir  Robert,"  said  he*,  "  are  the  Papists  quiet  now  1" 

"They  are  quiet,  sir,"  replied  the  other,  "because  they 
dare  not  be  otherwise." 

"  By  the  great  Deliverer,  that  saved  us  from  Pope  and 
Popery,  brass  money,  and  wooden  shoes,  I  think  the  country 
will  never  be  quiet  till  they  are  banished  out  of  it." 

"Indeed,  Mr.  Folliard,  I  agree  with  you." 

"And  so  do  I,  Sir  Robert,"  said  Reilly,  "  I  wish  from  my 


68  WILLY   REILLY. 

soul,  there  was  not  a  Papist,  as  you  call  them,  in  this 
unfortunate  country !  In  any  other  country  beyond  tho 
bounds  of  the  British  dominions,  they  could  enjoy  freedom. 
But  I  wish  it  for  another  reason,  gentlemen  ;  if  they  were 
gone,  you  would  then  be  taught  to  your  cost  the  value  of 
your  estates  and  the  source  of  your  incomes.  And  now, 
Mr.  Folliard,  I  am  not  conscious  of  having  given  you  any 
earthly  offence,  but  I  cannot  possibly  pretend  to  misunder- 
stand the  object  of  your  altered  conduct  and  language.  I 
am  your  guest,  at  your  own  express  invitation.  You  know 
I  am  a  Eoman  Catholic — Papist,  if  you  will — yet,  with  the 
knowledge  of  this,  you  have  not  only  insulted  me  person- 
ally, but  also  in  the  creed  to  which  I  belong.  As  for  that 
gentleman,  I  can  only  say  that  this  roof  and  the  presence 
of  those  who  are  under  it  constitute  his  protection.  But  I 
envy  not  the  man  who  could  avail  himself  of  such  a  position, 
for  the  purpose  of  insinuating  an  insult  which  he  dare  not 
offer  under  other  circumstances.  I  will  not  apologise  for 
taking  my  departure,  for  I  feel  that  I  have  been  too  long 
here." 

Cooleen  Bawn  arose  in  deep  agitation.  "  Dear  papa,  what 
in  this?"  she  exclaimed.  "What  can  be  the  cause  of  it  ? 
Why  forget  the  laws  of  hospitality  1  Why,  above  all 
things,  deliberately  insult  the  man  to  whom  you  and  I  both 
owe  so  much  1  Oh,  I  cannot  understand  it.  Some  demon, 
equally  cowardly  and  malignant,  must  have  poisoned  your 
own  naturally  generous  mind.  Some  villain,  equally  pro- 
fligate and  hypocritical,  has,  for  some  dark  purpose,  given 
this  unworthy  bias  to  your  mind." 

"You  know  nothing  of  it,  Helen.  You're  altogether  in 
the  dark,  girl;  but,  in  a  day  or  two,  it  will  be  made  clear 
to  you." 

"  Do  not  be  discomposed,  my  dear  Miss  Folliard/'  said 
Sir  Robert,  striding  over  to  her.  "  Allow  me  to  prevail 
upon  you  to  suspend  your  judgment  for  a  little,  and  to 
return  to  the  beautiful  air  you  were  enchanting  us  with." 

As  he  spoke,  he  attempted  to  take  her  hand.  Reilly,  in 
the  meantime,  was  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  bid  his 
love  good  night. 

"  Touch  me  not,  sir,"  she  replied,  her  glorious  eyes 
flashing   with   indignation.     "  I    charge    you   as    the  base 


WILLY  REILLY.  69 

cause  of  drawing  down  the  disgrace  of  shame,  the  sin  of 
ingratitude,  on  my  father's  head.  But  here  that  father 
stands,  and  there  you,  sir,  stand ;  and  sooner  than  become 
the  wife  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  I  would  dash  myself 
from  the  battlements  of  this  castle.  William  Reilly,  brave 
and  generous  young  man,  good  night!  It  matters  not 
who  may  forget  the  debt  of  gratitude  which  this  family 
owe  you — I  will  not.  No  cowardly  slanderer  shall  instil 
his  poisonous  calumnies  against  you  into  my  ear.  My 
opinion  of  you  is  unchanged  and  unchangeable.  Farewell ! 
William  Reilly !" 

We  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  the  commotions  of 
love,  of  happiness,  of  rapture,  which  filled  Reilly's  bosom 
as  he  took  his  departure.  As  for  Cooleen  Bawn  she  had 
now  passed  the  Rubicon,  and  there  remained  nothing  for 
her  but  constancy  to  the  truth  of  'her  affection,  be  the 
result  what  it  might.  She  had,  indeed,  much  of  the 
vehemence  of  her  father's  character  in  her;  much  of  his 
unchangeable  purpose,  when  she  felt  or  thought  she  was 
right ;  but  not  one  of  his  unfounded  whims  or  prejudices ; 
for  she  was  too  noble-minded  and  sensible  to  be  influenced 
by  unbecoming  or  inadequate  motives.  With  an  indignant 
but  beautiful  scorn,  that  gave  grace  to  resentment,  she 
bowed  to  the  baronet,  then  kissed  her  father  affectionately, 
and  retired. 

The  old  man,  after  she  had  gone,  sat  for  a  considerable 
time  silent.  In  fact,  the  superior  force  of  his  daughter's 
character  had  not  only  surprised,  but  overpowered  him  for 
the  moment.  The  baronet  attempted  to  resume  the  con- 
versation, but  he  found  not  his  intended  father-in-law  in 
the  mood  for  it.  The  light  of  truth,  as  it  flashed  from  the 
spirit  of  his  daughter,  seemed  to  dispel  the  darkness  of  his 
recent  suspicions;  he  dwelt  upon  the  possibility  of  in- 
gratitude, with  a  temporary  remorse. 

"  I  cannot  speak  to  you,  Sir  Eobert,"  he  said,  "  I  am 
confused,  disturbed,  distressed.  If  I  have  treated  that 
young  man  ungratefully,  God  may  forgive  me,  but  I  will 
never  forgive  myself." 

"Take  care,  sir,"  said  the  baronet,  "that  you  are  not 
under  the  spell  of  the  Jesuit,  and  your  daughter  too. 
Perhaps  you  will  find,  when  it  is  too  late,  that  she  is  the 


70  WILLY  REILLY. 

more  spell-bound  of  the  two.  If  I  don't  mistake,  the 
spell  begins  to  work  already.  In  the  meantime,  as  Miss 
Folliard  will  have  it,  I  withdraw  all  claims  upon  her  hand 
and  affections.  Good  night,  sir  f  and  as  he  spoke  he  took 
his  departure. 

For  a  long  time  the  old  man  sat  looking  into  the  fire, 
where  he  began  gradually  to  picture  to  himself  strange 
forms  and  objects  in  the  glowing  embers,  one  of  whom  he 
thought  resembled  the  Red  Eapparee,  about  to  shoot  him ; 
another  Willy  Reilly,  making  love  to  his  daughter;  and 
behind  all,  a  high  gallows,  on  which  he  beheld  the  said 
Willy  hanging  for  his  crime. 

In  about  an  hour  afterwards  Miss  Folliard  returned  to 
the  drawing-room,  where  she  found  her  father  asleep  in  his 
arm-chair.  Having  awakened  him  gently  from  what  ap- 
peared a  disturbed  dream,  he  looked  about  him,  and,  for- 
getting for  a  moment  all  that  had  happened,  inquired  in 
his  usual  eager  manner  where  Reilly  and  Whitecraft  were, 
and  if  they  had  gone.  In  a  few  moments,  however,  he 
recollected  the  circumstances  that  had  taken  place,  and, 
after  heaving  a  deep  sigh,  he  opened  his  arms  for  his 
daughter,  and  as  he  embraced  her,  burst  into  tears. 

11  Helen,"  said  he,  "  I  am  unhappy ;  I  am  distressed  ;  I 
know  not  what  to  do  ! — may  God  forgive  me  if  I  have 
treated  this  young  man  with  ingratitude.  But  at  all 
events  a  few  days  will  clear  it  all  up." 

His  daughter  was  melted  by  the  depth  of  his  sorrow, 
and  the  more  so,  as  it  was  seldom  she  had  seen  him  shed 
tears  before. 

"  I  would  do  everything — anything  to  make  you  happy, 
my  dear  treasure,"  said  he,  "  if  I  only  knew  how." 

c;  Dear  papa,"  she  replied,  "  of  that  I  am  conscious ;  and 
as  a  proof  that  the  heart  of  your  daughter  is  incapable  of 
veiling  a  single  thought  that  passes  in  it,  from  a  parent 
who  loves  her  so  well,  I  will  place  its  most  cherished  secret 
in  your  own  keeping.  I  shall  not  be  outdone  even  by  you, 
dear  papa,  in  generosity,  in  confidence,  in  affection.  Papa," 
she  added,  placing  her  head  upon  his  bosom,  whilst  the 
tears  flowed  fast  down  her  cheeks,  "  papa,  I  love  William 
Reilly, — love  him  with  a  pure  and  disinterested  passion  !— 
with  a  passion  which  I  feel  constitutes  my  destiny  in  this 


WILLY   REILLY.  71 

life — either  for  happiness  or  misery.  That  passion  is  irre- 
vocable ;  it  is  useless  to  ask  me  to  control  or  suppress  it, 
for  I  feel  that  the  task  is  beyond  my  power.  My  love, 
ho vy ever,  is  not  base  nor  selfish,  papa,  but  founded  on 
virtue  and  honour.  It  may  seem  strange  that  I  should 
make  such  a  confession  to  you,  for  I  know  it  is  unusual  in 
young  persons  like  me  to  do  so ;  but  remember,  dear  papa, 
that  except  yourself  I  have  no  friend.  If  I  had  a  mother, 
or  a  sister,  or  a  cousin  of  my  own  sex,  to  whom  I  might 
confide  and  unburden  my  feelings,  then,  indeed,  it  is  not 
probable  I  would  make  to  you  the  confession  which  I  have 
made ;  but  we  are  alone,  and  you  are  the  only  being  left 
me  on  whom  I  can  rest  my  sorrow — for,  indeed,  my  heart 
is  full  of  sorrow." 

"  Well,  well,  I  know  not  what  to  say.  You  are  a  true 
girl,  Helen,  and  the  very  error,  if  it  be  one,  is  diminished 
by  the  magnanimity  and  truth  which  prompted  you  to 
disclose  it  to  me.  I  will  go  to  bed,  dearest,  and  sleep,  if 
I  can.  I  trust  in  God  there  is  no  calamity  about  to  over- 
shadow our  house,  or  destroy  our  happiness." 

He  then  sought  his  own  chamber ;  and  Cooleen  Bawii, 
after  attending  him  thither,  left  him  to  the  care  of  his 
attendant,  and  retired  herself  to  her  apartment. 

On  reaching  home,  Eeilly  found  Fergus,  one  of  his  own 
relatives,  as  we  have  said,  the  same  who,  warned  by  his 
remonstrances,  had  abandoned  the  gang  of  the  Eel 
Eapparee,  waiting  to  see  him. 

"  Well*  Fergus,"  said  he,  "I  am  glad  that  you  *  have 
followed  my  advice.  You  have  left  the  lawless  employment 
of  that  blood-stained  man1?" 

"I  have,"  replied  the  other,  "and  I'm  here  to  tell  you 
that  you  can  now  secure  him  if  you  like.  I  don't  look  upon 
sayin'  this  as  treachery  to  him,  nor  would  I  mention  it  only 
that  Paudeen  the  smith,  who  shoes  and  doctors  his  horses, 
tould  me  something  that  you  ought  to  know." 

"  Well,  Fergus,  what  is  it  V 

"There's  a  plot  laid,  sir,  to  send  you  out  o'  the  country, 
and  the  Eed  Eapparee  has  a  hand  in  it,  He  is  promised  a 
pardon  from  Government,  and  some  kind  of  a  place  as  a 
thief- taker,  if  he'll  engage   in  it  against  you.     Now,  you 


<-  WILLY  REILLY. 

know  there's  a  price  upon  his  head,  and  if  you  like,  you  can 
have  it  and  get  an  enemy  put  out  of  your  way  at  the  same 
time." 

V  No,  Fergus,"  replied  Reiliy ;  "ia  a  moment  of  indig- 
nation, I  threatened  him  in  order  to  save  the  life  of  a 
fellow-creature.  But  let  the  laws  deal  with  him.  As  for 
me,  you  know  what  he  deserves  at  my  hands,  but  I  shall 
never  become  the  hound  of  a  Government  which  oppresses 
me  unjustly.  No,  no,  it  is  precisely  because  a  price  is  laid 
upon  the  unfortunate  miscreant's  head  that  /  would  not 
betray  him." 

"  He  will  betray  you,  then." 

"And  let  him.  I  have  never  violated  any  law,  and  even 
though  he  should  betray  me,  Fergus,  he  cannot  make  me 
guilty.  To  the  laws,  to  God,  and  his  own  conscience,  I 
leave  him.  No,  Fergus,  all  sympathy  between  me  and  the 
laws  that  oppress  us  is  gone.  Let  them  vindicate  them- 
selves against  thieves,  and  robbers,  and  murderers,  with  as 
much  vigilance  and  energy  as  they  do  against  the  harmless 
forms  of  religion  and  the  rights  of  conscience,  and  the 
country  will  soon  be  free  from  such  licentious  pests  as  the 
Red  Rapparee  and  his  gang." 

"You  speak  warmly,  Mr.  Reiliy." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Reiliy,  "  I  am  warm,  I  am  indignant  at 
my  degradation.  Fergus,  Fergus,  I  never  felt  that  degra- 
dation and  its  consequences  so  deeply  as  I  do  this  unhappy 
night." 

i{  Well,  will  you  listen  to  me  1" 

"I  will  strive  to  do  so;  but  you  know  not  the — you 
know  not — alas !  I  have  no  language  to  express  what  I 
feel.  Proceed,  however,"  he  added,  attempting  to  calm  the 
tumult  that  agitated  his  heart ;  "  what  about  this  plot  or 
plan  for  putting  me  out  of  the  country?" 

"  Well,  sir,  it's  determined  on  to  send  you,  by  the  means 
of  the  same  laws  you  speak  of,  out  of  the  country.  Tne  red 
villain  is  to  come  in  with  a  charge  against  you  and  surrender 
himself  to  Government  as  a  penitent  man,  and  the  person 
who  is  to  protect  him  is  Sir  Robert  Whitecraf  t." 

"  It's  all  true,  Fergus,"  said  Reiliy;  "I  see  it  at  a  glance, 
and  understand  it  a  great  deal  better  than  you  do.  They 
may,  however,  be  disappointed.     Fergus,  I  have  a  friend — 


WILLY   REILLY.  73 

a  friend — Oh,  such  a  friend !  and  it  will  go  hard  with  that 
friend,  or  I  shall  hear  of  their  proceedings.  In  the  mean- 
time what  do  you  intend  to  do  V 

"  I  scarcely  know,"  replied  the  other.  "  I  must  lie  quiet 
for  a  while,  at  any  rate." 

"  Do  so,"  said  Reilly ;  "  and  listen,  Fergus.  See  Pau- 
deen  the  smith,  from  time  to  time,  and  get  whatever  he 
knows  out  of  him.  His  father  was  a  tenant  of  ours,  and 
he  ought  to  remember  our  kindness  to  him  and  his." 

"  Ay,"  said  Fergus,  "  and  he  does  too." 

11  Well,  it  is  clear  he  does.  Get  from  him  all  the  infor- 
mation you  can,  and  let  me  hear  it.  I  would  give  you 
shelter  in  my  house,  but  that  now  would  be  dangerous  both 
to  you  and  me.     Do  you  want  money  to  support  you  T 

"  Well,  indeed  Mr.  Keilly,  I  do  and  I  do  not.     I  can " 

"That's  enough,"  said  Reilly;  "you  want  it.  Here, 
take  this.  I  would  recommend  you,  as  I  did  before,  to 
leave  this  unhappy  country;  but  as  circumstances  have 
turned  out,  you  may,  for  some  time  yet,  be  useful  to  me. 
Good  night,  then,  Fergus.  Serve  me  in  this  matter,  as  far 
as  you  can,  for  I  stand  in  need  of  it." 

As  nothing  like  an  orgauised  police  existed  in  Ireland  at 
the  period  of  which  we  speak,  an  outlaw  or  Eapparee 
might  have  a  price  laid  upon  his  head  for  months — nay,  for 
years — smd  yet  continue  his  outrages,  and  defy  the  execu- 
tive. Sometimes  it  happened  that  the  authorities,  feeling 
the  weakness  of  their  resources  and  the  inadequacy  of 
their  power,  did  not  hesitate  to  propose  terms  to  the 
leaders  of  these  banditti,  and,  by  affording  them  personal 
protection,  succeeded  in  inducing  them  to  betray  their 
former  associates.  Now,  Reilly  was  well  aware  of  this, 
and  our  readers  need  not  be  surprised  that  the  communica- 
tion made  to  him  by  his  kinsman  filled  him  not  only  with 
anxiety  but  alarm.  A  very  slight  charge,  indeed,  brought 
forward  by  a  man  of  rank  and  property — such  a  charge, 
for  instance,  as  the  possession  of  fire-arms — was  quite 
sufficient  to  get  a  Roman  Catholic  banished  the  country. 

On  the  third  evening  after  this  our  friend  Tom  Steeple 
was  met  by  its  proprietor  in  the  avenue  leading  to  Corbo 
Castle. 


74  WILLY   PvEILLY. 

"Well,  Tom,"  said  the  squire,  "are  you  for  the  Big 
House?"  for  such  is  the  general  term  applied  to  all  the 
ancestral  mansions  of  the  country. 

Tom  stopped  and  looked  at  him — for  we  need  scarcely 
observe  here,  that  with  poor  Tom  there  was  no  respect  of 
persons :  he  then  shook  his  head  and  replied,  "  Me  don't 
know  whether  you  tall  or  not.  Tom  tali — will  Tom  go  to 
Big  House — get  bully  dinner — and  Tom  sleep  under  the 
stairs — eh  ?     Say  ay,  an'  you  be  tall  too." 

"  To  be  sure,  Tom :  go  into  the  house,  and  your  cousin 
Larry  Lanigan,  the  cook,  will  give  you  a  bully  dinner ;  and 
deep  where  you  like." 

The  squire  walked  up  and  down  the  avenue  in  a 
thoughtful  mood  for  some  moments  until  another  of  our 
characters  met  him  on  his  way  towards  the  entrance-gate. 
This  person  was  no  other  than  Molly  Mahon. 

u  Ha !"  said  he,  "  here  is  another  of  them — well,  poor 
devils,  they  must  live.  This,  though,  is  the  great  fortune- 
teller.    I  will  try  her." 

"  God  save  your  honour,"  said  Molly,  as  she  approached 
him,  and  dropped  a  curtsey. 

"Ah,  Molly,"  said  he,  "  you  can  see  into  the  future,  they 
say.  Well,  come  now — tell  me  my  fortune;  but  they  say 
one  must  cross  your  palm  with  silver  before  you  can 
manage  the  fates ;  here's  a  shilling  for  you,  and  let  us  hear 
Vv;iiat  you  have  to  say." 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Molly,  putting  back  his  hand,  "  im- 
posthors  may  do  that,  because  they  secure  themselves  first, 
and  tell  you  nothing  worth  knowin'  afterwards.  I  take  no 
money  till  I  first  tell  the  fortune." 

"  Well,  Molly,  that's  honest  at  all  events — let  me  hear 
what  you  have  to  tell  me." 

"Show  me  your  hand,  sir,"  said  she,  and  taking  it,  she 
looked  into  it  with  a  solemn  aspect.  "  There,  sir,"  she  said, 
"  that  will  do.     I  am  sorry  I  met  you  this  evening." 

"Why  so,  Molly?" 

"  Because  I  read  in  your  hand  a  great  deal  of  sorrow." 

"  Pooh,  you  foolish  woman — 'nonsense  1" 

"There's  a  misfortune  likely  to  happen  to  one  of  your 
family ;  but  I  think  it  may  be  prevented." 

"  How  will  it  be  prevented?" 


WILLY   REILLY.  75 

M  By  a  gentleman  that  has  a  title  and  great  wealth,  and 
that  loves  the  member  of  your  family  that  the  misfortune  is 
likely  to  happen  to." 

The  squire  paused,  and  looked  at  the  woman,  who  seemed 
to  speak  seriously,  and  even  with  pain. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,  Molly  ;  but  granting  that 
it  be  true,  how  do  you  know  it  V 

"  That's  more  than  I  can  tell  myself,  sir,"  she  replied. 
"A  feelin'  comes  over  me,  and  I  can't  help  speakin'  the 
words  as  they  rise  to  my  lips." 

"  Well,  -Molly,  here's  a  shilling  for  you  now  ;  but  I  want 
you  to  see  my  daughter's  hand  till  I  hear  what  you  have  to 
say  for  her.     Are  you  a  Papist,  Molly  1" 

"  No,  your  honour,  I  was  one  wanst ;  but  the  moment 
we  take  to  this  way  of  life  we  musn't  belong  to  any  religion, 
otherwise  we  couldn't  tell  the  future." 

"Sell  yourselves  to  the  devil,  eh  ?" 

"Oh,  no,  sir;  but " 

"But  what]     Out  with  it." 

"  I  can't,  sir ;  if  I  did  I  never  could  tell  a  fortune  agin." 

"Well — well;  come  up;  I  have  taken  a  fancy  that  you 
shall  tell  my  daughter's  for  all  that." 

"  Surely  there  can  be  nothing  but  happiness  before  her, 
sir ;  she  that  is  so  good  to  the  poor  and  distressed ;  she  that 
has  all  the  world  admirin'  her  wonderful  beauty.  Sure, 
they  say,  her  health  was  drunk  in  the  Lord  Lieutenant's 
house  in  the  great  Castle  of  Dublin,  as  the  Lily  of  the  plains 
of  Boyle  and  the  Star  of  Ireland." 

"And  so  it  was,  Molly,  and  so  it  was;  there's  another 
shilling  for  you.  Come  now,  come  up  to  the  house,  and 
tell  her  fortune ;  and  mark  me,  Molly,  no  flattery  now — 
nothing  but  the  truth,  if  you  know  it." 

"  Did  I  flatter  you,  sir  1" 

"  Upon  my  honour,  anything  but  that,  Molly ;  and  all 
I  ask  is,  that  you  won't  flatter  her.  Speak  the  truth,  as  I 
said  before,  if  you  know  it." 

Miss  Folliard,  on  being  called  down  by  her  father  to  have 
her  fortune  told,  on  seeing  Molly,  drew  back  and  said : 

"  Do  not  ask  me  to  come  in  direct  contact  with  this 
woman,  papa.  How  can  you,  for  one  moment,  imagine  that 
a  person  of  her  life  and  habits  could  be  gifted  with  that 


7  b  WILLY   REILLY. 

which  has  never  yet  been  communicated  to  mortal  (the  holy 
prophets  excepted) — a  knowledge  of  futurity  V 

"No  matter,  my  darling,  no  matter;  give  her  your  hand; 
you  will  oblige  and  gratify  me." 

"  Here,  then,  dear  papa,  to  please  you — certainly." 

Molly  took  her  lovely  hand,  and  having  looked  into  it, 
said,  turning  to  the  squire,  "  It's  very  odd,  sir,  but  here's 
nearly  the  same  thing  that  I  tould  to  you  awhile  ago." 

"  Well,  Molly,"  said  he,  "  let  us  hear  it," 

Miss  Folliard  stood  with  her  snowy  hand  in  that  of  the 
fortune-teller,  perfectly  indifferent  to  her  art,  but  not  with- 
out strong  feelings  of  disgust  at  the  ordeal  to  which  she 
submitted. 

"  Now,  Molly,"  said  the  squire,  "  what  have  you  to  say  V* 

"  Here's  love,"  she  replied,  "  love  in  the  wrong  direction 
— a  false  step  is  made  that  will  end  in  misery — and — and 
_and " 

"And  what,  woman  1"  asked  Miss  Folliard  with  an 
indignant  glance  at  the  fortune-teller.  "What  have  you 
to  add?" 

"No!"  said  she,  "1  needn't  speak  it,  for  it  won't  come 
to  pass.  I  see  a  man  of  wealth  and  title  who  will  just 
come  in,  in  time,  to  save  you  from  shame  and  destruction, 
and  with  him  you  will  be  happy." 

"  I  could  prove  to  you,"  replied  the  Cooleen  Buwn,  her 
face  mantling  with  blushes  of  indignation,  "  that  I  am  a 
better  prophetess  than  you  are.  Ask  her,  papa,  where  she 
last  came  from]" 

"Where  did  you  come  from  last,  Molly1?"  hejisked. 

" Why,  then,"  she  replied,  "from  Jemmy  Hamilton's  at 
the  foot  of  Cullamore." 

"False  prophetess,"  replied  the  Cooleen  Baivn,  "you  have 
told  an  untruth,     I  know  where  you  dime  from  last." 

"  Then,  where  did  I  come  from,  Miss  Folliard  ?"  said  the 
woman,  with  unexpected  effrontery. 

"From  Sir  Eobert  Whitecraft,"  replied  Miss  Folliard, 
"and  the  wages  of  your  dishonesty,  and  his  corruption, 
are  the  sources  of  your  inspiration.  Take  the  woman 
away,  papa." 

"That  will  do,  Molly— that  will  do,"  exclaimed  the 
squire,   "  there  is  something  additional  for  you.     What  you 


WILLY   REILLY.  <7 

have  told  us  is  very  odd — very  odd,  indeed.     Go  and  get 
your  dinner  in  the  kitchen." 

Miss  Folliard  then  withdrew  to  her  own  room.   ' 

Between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock  that  night  a  carriage 
drew  up  at  the  grand  entrance  of  Corbo  Castle,  out  of  which 
stepped  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  and  no  less  a  personage 
than  the  Red  Rapparee.  They  approached  the  hall-door, 
and  after  giving  a  single  knock,  it  was  opened  to  them  by 
the  squire  himself,  who,  it  would  seem,  had  been  waiting  to 
receive  them  privately.  They  followed  him  in  silence  to 
his  study. 

Mr.  Folliard,  though  a  healthy  looking  man,  wa*,  in 
point  of  fact,  by  no  means  so.  Of  a  nervous  and  plethoric 
habit,  though  brave,  and  even  intrepid,  yet  he  was  easily 
affected  by  anything  or  any  person  that  was  disagreeable  to 
him.  On  seeing  the  man  whose  hand  had  been  raised 
against  his  life,  and  what  was  still  more  atrocious,  whose 
criminal  designs  upon  the  honour  of  his  daughter  had  been 
proved  by  his  violent  irruption  into  her  chamber,  he  felt  a 
suffocating  sensation  of  rage  and  horror  that  nearly  over- 
came him. 

"Sir  Robert,"  he  said,  "excuse  me;  the  sight  of  this 
man  has  sickened  me.  I  got  your  note,  and  in  your 
society  and  at  your  request  I  have  suffered  him  to  come 
here;  under  your  protection,  too.  May  God  forgive  me 
for  it !  The  room  is  too  close — I  feel  unwell — pray  open 
the  door." 

"  Will  there  be  no  risk,  sir,  in  leaving  the  door  open  F 
said  the  baronet. 

"None  in  the  world!  I  have  sent  the  servants  all  to 
bed  nearly  an  hour  ago.  Indeed,  the  fact  is,  they  are  sel- 
dom up  so  late,  unless  when  I  have  company." 

Sir  Robert  then  opened  the  door — that  is  to  say,  he  left 
it  little  more  than  ajar,  and  returning  again  took  his  seat. 

"  Don't  let  the  sight  of  me  frighten  you,  sir,"  said  the 
Rapparee.  "I  never  was  your  enemy,  nor  intended  you  harm." 

"  Frighten  me  /"  replied  the  courageous  old  squire ;  "  no, 
sir,  I  am  not  a  man  very  easily  frightened ;  but  I  will  con- 
fess that  the  sight  of  you  has  sickened  me,  and  filled  m& 
with  horror." 


73  WELLY  REILLY. 

"  Well,  now,  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  the  baronet,  "  let  this 
matter,  this  misunderstanding,  this  mistake,  or  rather  tljis 
deep  and  diabolical  plot  on  the  part  of  the  Jesuit,  Reilly, 
be  at  once  cleared  up.  We  wish,  that  is  to  say  I  wish,  to 
prevent  your  good  nature  from  being  played  upon  by  a  de- 
signing villain.  Now,  O'Donnel,  relate,  or  rather  disclose, 
candidly  and  truly,  all  that  took  place  with  respect  to  this 
damnable  plot  between  you  and  Reilly." 

"  Why,  the  thing,  sir,"  said  the  Rapparee,  addressing 
himself  to  the  squire,  "  is  very  plain  and  simple ;  but,  Sir 
Eobert,  it  was  not  a  plot  between  me  and  Reilly — the  plot 
was  his  own.  It  appears  that  he  saw  your  daughter,  and 
fell  desperately  in  love  with  her,  and  knowin'  your  strong 
feeling  against  Catholics,  he  gave  up  all  hopes  of  being 
made  acquainted  with  Miss  Folliard,  or  of  getting  into  her 
company.  Well,  sir,  aware  that  you  were  often  in  the 
habit  of  goin'  to  the  town  of  Boyle,  he  comes  to  me  and 
says  in  the  early  part  of  the  day,  '  Randal,  I  will  give  you 
fifty  goolden  guineas  if  you  help  me  in  a  plan  I  have  in  my 
head.'  Now,  fifty  goolden  guineas  isn't  easily  earned ;  so  I, 
not  knowing  what  the  plan  was  at  the  time,  tould  him  I 
could  say  nothing  till  I  heard  it.  He  then  tould  me  that 
he  was  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  your  daughter,  and 
that  have  her  he  should,  if  it  cost  him  his  life.  (  Well,' 
says  I,  'and  how  can  I  help  you?  'Why,'  said  he,  'I'll 
show  you  that :  her  ould  persecuting  scoundrel  of  a 
father' — excuse  me,  sir — I'm  givin'  his  own  words " 

"  I  believe  it,  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  the  baronet,  "  for  these 
are  the  identical  terms  in  which  he  told  me  the  story  before; 
proceed,  O'Donnel." 

"  '  The  ould  scoundrel  of  a  father,'  says  he,  '  on  his  return 
from  Boyle,  generally  comes  by  the  ould  road,  because  it  is 
the  shortest  cut.  Do  you  and  your  men  lie  in  wait  in  the 
ruins  of  the  ould  chapel,  near  Loch  na  GarrarC — it  is  called 
so,  sir,  because  they  say  there's  a  wild  horse  in  it  that 
comes  out  of  moonlight  nights  to  feed  on  the  patches  oi 
green  that  are  here  and  there  among  the  moors — '  near  Loch 
na  Garran?  says  he ;  '  and  when  he  gets  that  far  turn  out 
upon  him,  charge  him  with  transportm'  your  uncle,  and 
when  you  are  levellin'  your  gun  at  him,  I  will  come,  by  the 
way,  and  save  him.     You  and  I  must  speak  angry  to  one 


WILLY   REILLY.  73 

another,  you  know ;  then,  of  course,  I  must  see  him  home, 
and  he  can't  do  less  than  ask  me  to  dine  with  him.  At  all 
events,  thinkin'  that  I  saved  his  life,  we  will  become  ac- 
quainted.' " 

The  squire  paused  and  mused  for  some  time,  and  then 
asked,  "  Was  there  no  more  than  this  between  you  and 
him  ?" 

"  Nothing  more,  sir." 

"  And  tell  me,  did  he  pay  you  the  money?" 

"  Here  it  is,"  replied  the  Rapparee,  pulling  out  a  rag  in 
which  were  the  precise  number  of  guineas  mentioned. 

"  But,"  said  the  squire,  "  we  lost  our  way  in  the  fog." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  Rapparee,  "  everything  turned  out  in 
his  favour.  That  made  very  little  difference.  You  would 
have  been  attacked  in  or  about  that  place,  whether  or  not." 

"  Yes,  but  did  you  not  attack  my  house  that  night  1  Did 
not  you  yourself  come  down  by  the  skylight,  and  enter,  by 
violence,  into  my  daughter's  apartment." 

"  Well,  when  I  heard  of  that,  sir,  I  said,  '  I  give  Reilly 
up  for  ingenuity.'  No,  sir,  that  was  his  own  trick ;  but 
afther  all,  it  was  a  bad  one,  and  tells  against  itself.  Why, 
sir,  neither  I  nor  any  of  my  men  have  the  power  of  makin' 
ourselves  invisible.  Do  you  think,  sir — I  put  it  to  your 
own  common  sense — that  if  we  had  been  there  no  one  would 
have  seen  us1?  Wasn't  the  whole  country  for  miles  round 
searched  and  scoured,  and  I  ask  you,  sir,  was  there  hilt  or 
hair  of  me  or  any  one  of  my  men  seen,  or  even  heard  of  ? 
Sir  Robert,  I  must  be  going  now,"  he  added.  "  I  hope 
Squire  Folliard  understands  what  kind  of  a  man  Reilly  is. 
As  for  myself,  I  have  nothing  more  to  say." 

"Don't  go  yet,  O'Donnel,"  said  Whitecraft,  "let  us 
determine  what  is  to  be  done  with  him.  You  see  clearly  it 
is  necessary,  Mr.  Folliard,  that  this  deep-designing  Jesuit 
should  be  sent  out  of  the  country." 

"  I  would  give  half  my  estate  he  was  fairly  out  of  it," 
said  the  squire.  "  He  has  brought  calamity  and  misery  into 
my  family.  Created  world !  how  I  and  mine  have  been 
deceived  and  imposed  upon  !  Away  with  him — a  thousand 
leagues  away  with  him  !  And  that  quickly,  too  I  Ob,  the 
plausible,  deceitful  villain  !  My  child,  my  child  !"  and  here 
the  old  man  burst  into  tears  of  the  bitterest  indignation. 


80  WILLY   REILLY. 

"Sir  Robert,  that  cursed  villain  was  born,  I  fear,  to  be  the 
shame  and  destruction  of  my  house  and  name." 

"  Don't  dream  of  such  a  thing,"  said  the  baronet.  "  On 
the  day  he  dined  here — and  you  cannot  forget  my  strong 
disinclination  to  meet  him — but  even  on  that  day  you  will 
recollect  the  treasonable  language  he  used  against  the  laws 
of  the  realm.  After  my  return  home  I  took  a  note  of  them, 
and  I  trust  that  you,  sir,  will  corroborate,  with  respect  to 
this  fact,  the  testimony  which  it  is  my  purpose  to  give 
against  him.  I  say  this  the  rather,  Mr.  Folliard,  because  it 
might  seriously  compromise  your  own  character  with  the 
Government,  and  as  a  magistrate,  too,  to  hear  treasonable 
and  seditious  language  at  your  own  table,  from  a  Papist 
Jesuit,  and  yet  decline  to  report  it  to  the  authorities." 

"The  laws,  the  authorities,  and  you,  be  hanged,  sir!" 
replied  the  squire;  "my  table  is,  and  has  been,  and  ever 
shall  be,  the  altar  of  confidence  to  my  guests ;  I  shall  never 
violate  the  laws  of  hospitality.  Treat  the  man  fairly,  I  say, 
concoct  no  plot  against  him,  bribe  no  false  witnesses,  and  if 
he  is  justly  amenable  to  the  law,  I  will  spend  ten  thousand 
pounds  to  have  him  sent  anywhere  out  of  the  country." 

"He  keeps  arms,"  observed  Sir  Robert,  "contrary  to  the 
penal  enactments." 

"  I  think  not,"  said  the  squire ;  "  he  told  me  he  was  on  a 
duck-shooting  expedition  that  night,  and  when  I  asked  him 
where  he  got  his  arms,  he  said  that  his  neighbour,  Bob 
Gosford,  always  lent  him  his  gun  whenever  he  felt  disposed 
to  shoot,  and,  to  my  own  knowledge,  so  did  many  other 
Protestant  magistrates  in  the  neighbourhood,  for  this  wily 
Jesuit  is  a  favourite  with  most  of  them." 

"But  I  know  where  he  has  arms  concealed,"  said  the 
Rapparee,  looking  significantly  at  the  baronet,  "  and  I  will 
be  able  to  find  them,  too,  when  the  proper  time  comes." 

"  Ha  !  indeed,  O'Donnel,"  said  Sir  Robert,  with  well- 
feigned  surprise ;  "  then  there  will  be  no  lack  of  proof 
against  him,  you  may  rest  assured,  Mr.  Folliard  ;  I  charge 
myself  with  the  management  of  the  whole  affair.  I  trust, 
sir,  you  will  leave  it  to  me,  and  I  have  only  one  favour  to 
ask,  and  that  is,  the  hand  of  your  fair  daughter  when  he  is 
disposed  of." 

''She  shall  be  yours.  Sir  Robert,  the  moment  that  this 


WILLY  REILLY.  81 

treacherous  villain  can  be  removed  by  the  fair  operation  of 
the  laws ;  but  I  will  never  sanction  any  dishonourable 
treatment  towards  him.  By  the  laws  of  the  land  let  him 
stand  or  fall." 

At  this  moment  a  sneeze  of  tremendous  strength  and 
loudness  was  heard  immediately  outside  the  door ;  a  sneeze 
which  made  the  hair  of  the  baronet  almost  stand  on  end. 

"What  the  devil  is  that?"  asked  the  squire.  "By  the 
great  Boyne,  I  fear  some  one  has  been  listening  after  all." 

The  Rapparee,  always  apprehensive  of  the  "  authorities," 
started  behind  a  screen,  and  the  baronet,  although  uncon- 
scious of  any  cause  for  terror,  stood  rather  undecided.  The 
sneeze,  however,  was  repeated,  and  this  time  it  was  a  double 
one. 

"  Curse  it,  Sir  Robert,"  said  the  squire,  "  have  you  not 
the  use  of  your  legs  ?  Go  and  see  whether  there  has  been 
an  eavesdropper." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Folliard,"  replied  the  doughty  baronet,  "but 
your  house  has  the  character  of  being  haunted  ;  and  I  have 
a  terror  of  ghosts." 

The  squire  himself  got  up,  and,  seizing  a  candle,  went 
outside  the  door,  but  nothing  in  human  shape  was  visible. 

"  Come  here,  Sir  Robert,"  said  he,  "  that  sneeze  came 
from  no  ghost,  I'll  swear.  Who  ever  heard  of  a  ghost 
sneezing?  Never  mind,  though;  for  the  curiosity  of  the 
thing  I  will  examine  for  myself,  and  return  to  you  in  a  few 
minutes." 

He  accordingly  left  them,  and  in  a  short  time  came  back, 
assuring  them  that  every  one  in  the  house  was  in  a  state  of 
the  most  profound  repose,  and  that  it  was  his  opinion  it 
must  have  been  a  cat. 

"  I  might  think  so  myself,"  observed  the  baronet,  "  were 
it  not  for  the  double  sneeze.  I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Folliard, 
that  the  report  is  too  true — and  that  the  house  is  haunted. 
O'Donnel,  you  must  come  home  with  me  to-night." 

O'Donnel,  who  entertained  no  apprehension  of  ghosts, 
finding  that  the  "  authorities"  were  not  in  question,  agreed 
to  go  with  him,  although  he  had  a  small  matter  on  hand 
which  required  his  presence  in  another  part  of  the  country. 

The  baronet,  however,  had  gained  his  point.  The  heart 
of  the  hasty  and  unreflecting  squire  had  been  poisoned,  and 

f 


82  WILLY  REILLY. 

not  one  shadow  of  doubt  remained  on  his  mind  of  Reilly's 
treachery.  And  that  which  convinced  him  beyond  all 
arguments  or  assertions  was  the  fact,  that  on  the  night  of 
the  premeditated  attack  on  his  house  not  one  of  the  Bed 
Rapparee's  gang  was  seen,  or  any  trace  of  them  discovered. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   WARNING— AX   ESCAPE. 

EILLY,  in  the  meantime,  was  not  insensible  to  bis 

danger.     About  eleven  o'clock  the  next  day,  as  he 

<)  v    was  walking  in  his  garden,  Tom  Steeple  made  his 

appearance,  and  approached  him  with  a  look  of  caution 

and  significance. 

"  Well,  Tom,"  said  he,  "  what's  the  news?" 
Tom  made  no  reply,   but  catching  him  gently  by  the 
sleeve  .of  his  coat,  said,  "  Come  wid  Tom ;  Tom  has  news 
for  you.     Here  it  is,  in  de  paper;"  and  as  he  spoke,  he 
handed  him  a  letter,  the  contents  of  which  we  give  : — 

"  Dearest  Reilly, — The  dreadful  discovery  I  have 
made,  the  danger  and  treachery  and  vengeance  by  which 
you  are  surrounded,  but,  above  all,  my  inexpressible  love 
for  you,  will  surely  justify  me  in  nob  losing  a  moment 
to  write  to  you ;  and  I  select  this  poor  creature  as  my 
messenger  because  he  is  least  likely  to  be  suspected.  It  is 
through  him  that  the  discovery  of  the  accursed  plot  against 
you  has  been  made.  It  appears  that  he  slept  in  the  Castle 
last  night,  as  he  often  does,  and  having  observed  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraffc  and  that  terrible  man,  the  Red  Rap- 
paree,  coming  into  the  house,  and  going  along  with  papa 
into  his  study,  evidently  upon  some  private  business,  he 
resolved  to  listen.  He  did  so,  and  overheard  the  Rapparee 
stating  to  papa  that  everything  which  took  place  on  the 
evening  you  saved  his  life,  and  frustrated  his  other  designs 
upon  the  Castle,  was  a  plan  preconcerted  by  you  for  the 
purpose  of  making  papa's  acquaintance  and  getting  intro- 
duced to  the  family,  in  order  to  gain  my  affections.     Alas  ! 


WILLY  REILLY.  83 

U  you  have  resorted  to  such  a  plan,  you  have  but  too  well 
succeeded.  Do  not,  however,  for  one  moment  imagine 
that  I  yield  any  credit  to  this  atrocious  falsehood.  It  has 
been  concocted  by  your  base  and  unmanly  rival,  White- 
craft,  by  whom  all  the  proceedings  against  you  are  to  be 
conducted.  Some  violation  of  the  penal  laws,  in  connexion 
with  carrying  or  keeping  arms,  is  to  be  brought  against 
you,  and  unless  you  are  on  your  guard  you  will  be  arrested 
and  thrown  into  prison,  and  if  not  convicted  of  a  capital 
offence  and  executed,  like  a  felon,  you  will  at  least  be  sent. 
for  ever  out  of  the  country.  What  is  to  be  done  ?  If  you 
have  arms  in  or  about  your  house  let  them  be  forthwith 
removed  to  some  place  of  concealment.  The  Eapparee  is 
to  get  a  pardon  from  Government,  at  least  he  is  promised 
it  by  Sir  Robert,  if  he  turns  against  you.  In  one  word, 
dearest  Beilly,  you  cannot,  with  safety  to  your  life,  remain 
in  this  country.  You  must  fly  from  it,  and  immediately 
too.  I  wish  to  see  you.  Come  this  night,  at  half-past  ten, 
to  the  back  gate  of  our  garden,  which  you  will  find  shut, 
but  unlocked.  Something, — is  it  my  heart  1 — tells  me  that 
our  fates  are  henceforth  inseparable,  whether  for  joy  or 
sorrow.  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  I  confessed  my  affection 
for  you  to  papa  on  the  evening  you  dined  here,  and  he  was 
not  angry;  but  this  morning  he  insisted  that  I  should 
never  think  of  you  more,  nor  mention  your  name ;  and  he 
says  that  if  the  laws  can  do  it,  he  will  lose  ten  thousand 
pounds,  or  he  will  have  you  sent  out  of  the  country. 
Lanigan,  our  cook,  from  what  motive  I  know  not,  men- 
tioned to  me  the  substance  of  what  I  have  now  written. 
He  is,  it  seems,  a  cousin  to  the  bearer  of  this,  and  got  the 
information  from  him,  after  having  had  much  difficulty,  he 
says,  in  putting  it  together.  I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  I 
can  assure  you  that  every  servant  in  the  Castle  seems  to 
know  that  I  am  attached  to  you. 

"Ever,  my  dearest  Eeilly,  yours,  and  yours  only,  until 
death,  "Helen  Folliard." 

We  need  not  attempt  to  describe  the  sensations  of  love 
and  indignation  produced  by  this  letter.  But  we  shall 
state  the  facts. 

"Here  Tom,"    said   Reilly,    "is   the  reward   for  your 


81  WILLY  REILLY. 

fidelity,"  as  he  handed  him  some  silver;  "and  mark  me, 
Tom,  don't  breathe  to  a  human  being  that  you  have 
brought  me  a  letter  from  the  Cooleen  Bavjn.  Go  into  the 
house  and  get  something  to  eat;  there  now — go  and  get 
one  of  your  bully  dinners." 

"  It  is  true,"  said  he,  "  too  true  I  am  doomed — devoted. 
If  I  remain  in  this  country  I  am  lost.  Yes,  my  life,  my 
love,  my  more  than  life — I  feel  as  you  do,  that  our  fates, 
whether  for  good  or  evil,  are  inseparable.  Yes,  I  shall  see 
you  this  night  if  I  have  life." 

He  had  scarcely  concluded  this  soliloquy  when  his  name- 
sake, Fergus  E-eilly,  disguised  in  such  a  way  as  prevented 
him  from  being  recognised,  approached  him,  in  the  lowly 
garb  of  a  baccah  or  mendicant. 

"Well,  my  good  fellow,"  said  he,  "what  do  you  want? 
Go  up  to  the  house  and  you  will  get  food." 

"  Keep  quiet,"  replied  the  other,  disclosing  himself,  "  keep 
quiet ;  get  all  your  money  into  one  purse,  settle  your  affairs 
as  quickly  as  you  can,  and  fly  the  country  this  night,  or 
otherwise  sit  down  and  make  your  will  and  your  peace  with, 
God  Almighty,  for,  if  you  are  found  here  by  to-morrow 
night,  you  sleep  in  Sligo  gaol.  Throw  me  a  few  half-pence, 
making  as  it  were  charity.  Whitecraft  has  spies  among 
your  own  labourers,  and  you  know  the  danger  I  run  in 
comin'  to  you  by  daylight.  Indeed,  I  could  not  do  it  with- 
out this  disguise.  Tomorrow  night  you  are  to  be  taken 
upon  a  warrant  from  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft;  but  never 
mind ;  as  to  Whitecraft,  leave  him  to  me — I  have  a  crow  to 
pluck  with  him." 

"How  is  that,  Fergus V* 

"My  sister,  man;  did  you  not  hear  of  it!" 

"  No,  Fergus,  nor  I  don't  wish  to  hear  of  it,  for  your 
sake  ;  spare  your  feelings,  my  poor  fellow  ;  I  know  perfectly 
well  what  a  hypocritical  scoundrel  he  is." 

*  Well,"  replied  Fergus,  "  it  was  only  yesterday  I  heard 
of  it  myself ;  and  are  we  to  bear  this  1 — we  that  have  hands, 
and  eyes,  and  limbs,  and  hearts,  and  courage  to  stand  nobly 
upon  the  gallows-tree  for  striking  down  the  villain  who 
does  whatever  he  likes,  and  then  threatens  us  with  the  laws 
of  the  land  if  we  murmur!  Do  you  think  this  is  to  be 
borne  V 


WILLY   REILLY.  85 

"Take  not  vengeance  into  your  own  hand,  Fergus," 
replied  Eeilly,  "  for  that  is  contrary  to  the  laws  of  God  and 
man.  As  for  me,  I  agree  with  you  that  I  cannot  remain  in 
this  country.  I  know  the  vast  influence  which  Whitecraft 
possesses  with  the  Government.  Against  such  a  man  I 
have  no  chance ;  this,  taken  in  connection  with  my  education 
abroad,  is  quite  sufficient  to  make  me  a  marked  and  sus- 
pected man.  I  will  therefore  leave  the  country,  and  ere 
to-morrow  night,  I  trust,  I  shall  be  beyond  his  reach.  But, 
Fergus,  listen  :  leave  Whitecraft  to  God ;  do  not  stain  your 
soul  with  human  blood ;  keep  a  pure  heart,  and  whatever 
may  happen,  be  able  to  look  up  to  the  Almighty  with  a 
clear  conscience." 

Fergus  then  left  him,  but  with  a  resolution,  nevertheless, 
to  have  vengeance  upon  the  baronet  very  unequivocally 
expressed  on  his  countenance. 

Having  seriously  considered  his  position  and  all  the 
circumstances  of  danger  connected  with  it,  Eeilly  resolved 
that  his  interview  that  night  with  his  beloved  Cooleen  Bawn 
should  be  his  last.  He  accordingly  communicated  his  appre- 
hensions to  an  aged  uncle  of  his  who  resided  with  him,  and 
entrusted  the  management  of  his  property  to  him,  uutil 
some  change  for  the  better  might  take  place.  Having 
heard  from  Fergus  Eeilly  that  there  were  spies  among  his 
own  labourers,  he  kept  moving  about  and  making  such 
observations  as  he  could  for  the  remainder  of  the  day. 
When  the  night  came,  he  prepared  himself  for  his  appoint- 
ment, and  at,  or  rather  before,  the  hour  of  half-past  ten,  he 
had  reached  the  back  gate,  or  rather  door,  of  the  garden 
attached  to  Corbo  Castle.  Having  ascertained  that  it  was 
unlocked,  he  entered  with  no  difficulty,  and  traversed  the 
garden  without  being  able  to  perceive  her  whose  love  was 
now,  it  might  be  said,  all  that  life  had  left  him.  After 
having  satisfied  himself  that  she  was  not  in  the  garden,  he 
withdrew  to  an  arbour  or  summer-house  of  evergreens,  where 
he  resolved  to  await  until  she  should  come.  He  did  not  wait 
long.  The  latch  of  the  entrance  gate  from  the  front  made  a 
noise  j  ah,  how  his  heart  beat !  what  a  commotion  agitated 
his  whole  frame !     In  a  few  moments  she  was  with  him. 

"  Eeilly,"  said  Cooleen  Baicn,  "  I  have  dreadful  news  to 
communicate." 


S6  WILLY   REILLY. 

"  I  know  all,"  said  he,  "  I  am  to  be  arrested  to-morrow 


night." 


To-night,  dearest  Reilly,  to-night.  Papa  told  me  this 
evening,  in  one  of  his  moods  of  anger,  that  before  to- 
morrow morning  you  will  be  in  Sligo  gaol." 

u  Well,  dearest  Helen,"  he  replied,  "  that  is  certainly 
making  quick  work  of  it.  But,  even  so,  I  am  prepared 
this  moment  to  escape.  I  have  settled  my  affairs,  left  the 
management  of  them  to  my  uncle,  and  this  interview  with 
you,  my  beloved  girl,  must  be  our  last." 

As  he  uttered  these  melancholy  words,  the  tears  came  to 
his  eyes. 

"The  last!"  she  exclaimed.  "Oh,  no;  it  must  not  be 
the  last.  You  shall  not  go  alone,  dearest  William.  My 
mind  is  made  up.  Be  it  for  life  or  for  death,  I  shall 
accompany  you." 

"  Dearest  life,"  he  replied,  "  think  of  the  consequences." 

"  I  think  of  nothing,"  said  Cooleen  Bawn,  "  but  my  love 
for  you.  If  you  were  nob  surrounded  by  danger  as  you 
are  ;  if  the  whoop  of  vengeance  were  not  on  your  trail ;  if 
death  and  a  gibbet  were  not  in  the  back-ground,  I  could 
part  with  you ;  but  now  that  danger,  vengeance,  and  death, 
are  hovering  about  you,  I  shall  and  must  partake  of  them 
with  you.  And  listen,  Keilly ;  after  all,  it  is  the  best  plan. 
Papa,  if  I  accompany  you — supposing  that  we  are  taken — 
will  relent,  for  my  sake.  I  know  his  love  for  me.  His 
affection  for  me  will  overcome  all  his  prejudices  against 
you.  Then  let  us  fly.  To-night  you  will  be  taken.  Your 
rival  will  triumph  over  both  of  us ;  and  I — I,  oh  !  I  shall 
not  survive  it.  Save  me,  then,  Reilly,  and  let  me  fly  with 
you." 

"  God  knows,"  replied  Reilly,  with  deep  emotion,  "  if  I 
suffered  myself  to  be  guided  by  the  impulse  of  my  heart,  I 
would  yield  to  wishes  at  once  so  noble  and  disinterested. 
I  cannot,  however,  suffer  my  affection,  absorbing  and  inex- 
pressible as  it  is,  to  precipitate  your  ruin.  I  speak  not  of 
myself,  nor  of  what  I  may  suffer.  When  we  reflect,  how- 
ever, my  beloved  girl,  upon  the  state  of  the  country  and  of 
the  law,  as  it  operates  against  the  liberty  and  property  of 
Catholics,  we  must  both  admit  the  present  impossibility  of 
an  elopement   without   involving   you   in   disgrace.     You 


WILLY   EEILLY.  6 J 

know  that,  until   some  relaxation   of   the   laws   affectin 


o 


marriage  between  Catholics  and  Protestants  takes  place,  an 
union  between  us  is  impossible ;  and  this  fact  it  is  which 
would  attach  disgrace  to  you,  and  a  want  of  honour, 
principle,  and  gratitude  to  me.  We  should  necessarily 
lead  the  lives  of  the  guilty,  and  seek  the  wildest  fastnesses 
of  the  mountain  solitudes,  and  the  oozy  caverns  of  the 
bleak  and  solitary  hills." 

"  But  I  care  not.  I  am  willing  to  endure  it  all  for  your 
sake." 

"  What ! — the  shame,  the  misinterpretation,  the  imputed 

guilt  r 

"  Neither  care  I  for  shame  or  imputed  guilt,  so  long  as  I 
am  innocent,  and  you  safe." 

"  Concealment,  my  dearest  girl,  would  be  impossible. 
Such  a  hue  and  cry  would  be  raised  after  us,  as  would 
render  nothing  short  of  positive  invisibility  capable  of 
protecting  us  from  our  enemies.  Then  your  father ! — such 
a  step  might  possibly  break  his  heart;  a  calamity  which 
would  fill  your  mind  with  remorse  to  the  last  day  of  your 
life  I" 

She  burst  again  into  tears,  and  replied,  "But  as  for  you, 
what  can  be  done  to  save  you  from  the  toils  of  your 
unscrupulous  aud  powerful  enemies'?" 

"To  that,  my  beloved  Helen,  I  must  forthwith  look. 
In  the  meantime,  let  me  gather  patience,  and  await  some 
more  favourable  relaxation  in  the  penal  code.  At  present, 
the  step  you  propose  would  be  utter  destruction  to  us  both, 
and  an  irretrievable  stain  upon  our  reputation.  You  will 
return  to  your  father's  house,  and  I  shall  seek  some  secure 
place  of  concealment,  until  I  can  safely  reach  the  Con- 
tinent, from  whence  I  shall  contrive  to  let  you  hear  from 
me,  and  in  due  time  may  possibly  be  able  to  propose  some 
mode  of  meeting  in  a  country  where  the  oppressive  laws 
that  separate  us  here  shall  not  stand  in  the  way  of  our 
happiness.  In  the  meantime,  let  our  hearts  be  guided  by 
hope  and  constancy."  After  a  mournful  and  tender  em- 
brace they  separated. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  agony  of  the  lovers 
after  a  separation  which  might  probably  be  their  last.  Our 
readers,  however,  may  very  well  conceive  it,  and  it  is  not 


88  WILLY   REILLY. 

our  intention  to  describe  it  here.  At  this  stage  of  our 
story,  Reilly,  who  was,  as  we  have  said,  in  consequence  of 
his  gentlemanly  manners  and  liberal  principles,  a  favourite 
with  all  classes  and  all  parties,  and  entertained  no  appre- 
hensions from  the  dominant  party,  took  his  way  homewards, 
deeply  impressed  with  the  generous  affections  which  his 
Cooleen  Bawn  had  expressed  for  him.  He,  consequently, 
looked  upon  himself  as  perfectly  safe  in  his  own  house. 
The  state  of  society  in  Ireland,  however,  was  at  that 
melancholy  period  so  uncertain,  that  no  Roman  Catholic, 
however  popular,  or  however  innocent,  could  for  one  week 
calculate  upon  safety  either  to  his  property  or  person,  if  he 
happened  to  have  an  enemy  who  possessed  any  influence  in 
the  opposing  Church.  Religion  thus  was  made  the  stalking- 
horse,  not  only  of  power,  but  of  persecution,  rapacity,  and 
selfishness ;  and  the  unfortunate  Roman  Catholic  who  con- 
sidered himself  safe  to-day,  might  find  himself  ruined 
to-morrow,  owing  to  the  cupidity  of  some  man  who  turned 
a  lustful  eye  upon  his  property,  or  who  may  have  entertained 
a  feeling  of  personal  ill-will  against  him.  Be  this  as  it  may, 
Reilly  wended  his  melancholy  way  homewards,  and  had  got 
within  less  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  his  own  house,  when 
he  was  met  by  Fergus  in  his  mendicant  habit,  who  startled 
him  by  the  information  he  disclosed. 

"  Where  are  you  bound  for,  Mr.  Reilly  %"  said  the  latter. 

"For  home,"  replied  Reilly,  "in  order  to  secure  my 
money,  and  the  papers  connected  with  the  family  property." 

"Well,  then,"  said  the  other,  "if  you  go  home  now,  you 
are  a  lost  man." 

"How  is  that?"  asted  Reilly. 

"Your  house  at  this  moment  is  filled  with  sogers,  and 
surrounded  by  them,  too.  You  know  that  no  human  being 
could  make  me  out  in  this  disguise ;  I  had  heard  that  they 
were  on  their  way  to  3'our  place ;  and  afeered  that  they 
might  catch  you  at  home,  I  was  goin'  to  let  you  know,  in 
or d her  that  you  might  escape  them,  but  I  was  too  late,  the 
villains  were  there  before  me.  I  took  heart  o'  grace,  how- 
ever, and  went  up  to  beg  a  little  charity,  for  the  love  and 
honour  of  God.  Seem'  the  kind  of  creature  I  was,  they 
took  no  notice  of  me  :  for  to  tell  you  the  truth,  they  were 
too    much    bent    on    searchin'   for,  and    findin'  you.     God 


WILLY   REILLY.  89 

protect  us  from  such  men,  Mr.  Reilly,"  and  the  name  he 
uttered  in  a  low  and  cautious  voice ;  "  but  at  all  events  this 
is  no  country  for  you  to  live  in  now.  But  who  do  you 
think  was  the  busiest  and  the  bittherest  man  among  them  1" 

"  Why,  Whitecraft,  I  suppose." 

"No;  he  wasn't  there  himself — no;  but  that  double 
distilled  traitor  and  villain,  the  Red  Rapparee,  and  bad  luck 
to  him.  You  see,  then,  that  if  you  attempt  to  go  near  your 
own  house,  you're  a  lost  man,  as  I  said." 

"I  feel  the  truth  of  what  you  say,"  replied  Reilly,  "but 
are  you  aware  that  they  committed  any  acts  of  violence  1 
Are  you  aware  that  they  disturbed  my  property,  or  ransacked 
my  house  V 

"  Well,  that's  more  than  I  can  say,"  replied  Fergus,  "  for 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  was  afraid  to  trust  myself  inside,  in 
regard  of  that  scoundrel,  the  Rapparee,  who,  bein'  himself 
accustomed  to  all  sorts  of  disguises,  I  dreaded  might  find 
me  out." 

"  Wei!,  at  all  events,"  said  Reilly,  "  with  respect  to  that 
I  disregard  them.  The  family  papers,  and  other  available 
property,  are  too  well  secreted  for  them  to  secure  them. 
On  discovering  Whitecraf t's  jealousy,  and  knowing,  as  I  did 
before,  his  vindictive  spirit  and  power  in  the  country,  I  lost 
no  time  in  putting  them  in  a  safe  place.  Unless  they  burn 
the  house  they  could  never  come  at  them.  But  as  this  fact 
is  not  at  all  an  improbable  one — so  long  as  Whitecraft  is 
my  unscrupulous  and  relentless  enemy — 1  shall  seize  upon 
the  first  opportunity  of  placing  them  elsewhere." 

"  You  ought  to  do  so,"  said  Fergus,  "  for  it  is  not  merely 
Whitecraft  you  have  to  deal  wid,  but  ould  Folliard  himself, 
who  now  swears  that  if  he  should  lose  half  his  fortune  he 
will  either  hang  or  transport  you." 

"  Ah  !  Fergus,"  replied  the  other,  "  there  is  an  essential 
difference  between  the  characters  of  these  two  men.  The 
father  of  Cooleen  Bawn  is,  when  he  thinks  himself  injured, 
impetuous  and  unsparing  in  his  resentment ;  bub  then  he 
is  an  open  foe,  and  the  man  whom  he  looks  upon  as  his 
enemy  always  knows  what  he  has  to  expect  from  him.  Not 
so  the  other;  he  is  secret,  cautious,  cowardly,  and  conse- 
cpiently  doubly  vindictive.  He  is  a  combination  of  the  fox 
and  the  tiger,  with  all  the  treacherous  cunning  of  the  one, 


90  WILLY  REILLY. 

and  the  indomitable  ferocity  of  the  other,  when  he  finds 
that  he  can  make  his  spring  with  safety." 

This  conversation  took  place  as  Reillyand  his  companion 
bent  their  steps  towards  one  of  those  antiquated  and  obso- 
lete roads  which  we  have  described  in  the  opening  portion 
of  this  narrative. 

"  Bat  now,"  asked  Fergus,  "  where  do  you  intend  to  go, 
or  what  do  you  intend  to  do  with  yourself?" 

"  I  scarcely  know,"  replied  Eeilly,  "  but  on  one  thing  my 
mind  is  determined — that  I  will  not  leave  this  country  until 
I  know  the  ultimate  fate  of  the  Cooleen  Bawn.  Rather  than 
see  her  become  the  wife  of  that  diabolical  scoundrel,  whom 
she  detests  as  she  does  hell,  I  would  lose  my  life.  Let  the 
consequences  then  be  what  they  may,  I  will  not  for  the 
present  leave  Ireland.  This  resolution  I  have  come  to  since 
I  saw  her  to-night.  I  am  her  only  friend,  and,  so  help  me 
God,  I  shall  not  suffer  her  to  be  sacrificed — murdered.  In 
the  course  of  the  night  we  shall  return  to  my  house,  and 
look  about  us.  If  the  coast  be  clear  I  will  secure  my  cash 
and  papers  as  I  said.  It  is  possible  that  a  few  stragglers 
may  lurk  behind,  under  the  expectation  of  securing  me 
while  making  a  stolen  visit.  However,  we  shall  try.  We 
are  under  the  scourge  of  irresponsible  power,  Fergus ;  and 
if  Whitecraft  should  burn  my  house  to-night  or  to-morrow, 
who  is  to  bring  him  to  an  account  for  it  %  or  if  they  should, 
who  is  to  convict  him1?" 

The  night  had' now  become  very  dark,  but  they  knew  the 
country  well,  and  soon  found  themselves  upon  the  old  road 
they  were  seeking. 

"  I  will  go  up,"  said  Eeilly,  "  to  the  cabin  of  poor  widow 
Buckley,  where  we  will  stop  until  we  think  those  blood- 
hounds have  gone  home.  She  has  a  free  cottage  and  garden 
from  me,  and  has  besides  been  a  pensioner  of  mine  for  some 
time  back,  and  I  know  I  can  depend  upon  her  discretion 
and  fidelity.  Her  little  place  is  remote  and  solitary,  and 
not  more  than  three  quarters  of  a  mile  from  us." 

They  accordingly  kept  the  old  road  for  some  time,  until 
they  reached  a  point  of  it  where  there  was  an  abrupt  angle, 
when,  to  their  utter  alarm  and  consternation,  they  found 
themselves  within  about  twenty  or  thirty  yards  of  a  military 
party. 


WILLY  REILLY.  91 

"  Fly/'  whispered  Fergus,  "  and  leave  me  to  deal  with 
them — if  you  don't  it's  all  up  with  you.  They  won't  know 
me  from  Adam,  but  they'll  know  you  at  a  glance." 

"I  cannot  leave  you  in  danger,"  said  Reilly. 

"  You're  mad,"  replied  the  other.  "It  is  an  ould  beggar- 
man  they'd  meddle  with,  Off  with  you,  unless  you  wish  to 
sleep  in  Sligo  gaol  before  mornin'." 

Eeilly,  who  felt  too  deeply  the  truth  of  what  he  said, 
bounded  across  the  bank  which  enclosed  the  road  on  the 
right-hand  side,  and  which,  by  the  way,  was  a  tolerably  high 
one,  but  fortunately  without  bushes.  In  the  meantime  a 
voice  cried  out,  "  Who  goes  there  1  Stand  at  your  peril,  or 
you  will  have  a  dozen  bullets  in  your  carcase." 

Fergus  advanced  towards  them,  whilst  they  themselves 
approached  him  at  a  rapid  pace,  until  they  met.  In  a 
moment  they  were  all  about  him. 

"  Come,  my  customer,"  said  their  leader,  "  who  and  what 
are  you  %     Quick — give  an  account  of  yourself." 

"  A  poor  creature  that's  lookin'  for  my  bit,  sir,  God  help 
me." 

"  What's  your  name?" 

"  One  Paddy  Brennan,  sir,  please  your  honour." 

"Ay — one  Paddy  Brennan  (hiccough),  and — and — one 
Paddy  Brennan,  where  do  you  go  of  a  Sunday  V 

"I  don't  go  out  at  all,  sir,  of  a  Sunda';  wherever  I  stop 
of  a  Saturday  night  I  always  stop  until  Monday  mornin'." 

"  I  mean,  are  you  a  Papish  V 

"  Throth,  I  oughtn't  to  say  I  am,  your  honour — or  at  least 
a  very  bad  one." 

"  But  you  are  a  Papish  V 

"A  kind  of  one,  sir." 

''Curse  me,  the  fellow's  humbuggin'  you,  sergeant,"  said 
one  of  the  men ;  "to  be  sure  he's  a  Papish." 

"  To  be  sure,"  replied  several  of  the  others — "  dosen't  he 
admit  he's  a  Papish?' 

"Blow  me,  if — if — I'll  bear  this,"  replied  the  sergeant, 
"  I'm  a  senior  off — off — officer  conductin'  the  examination, 
and  I'll  suffer  no — no — man  to  intherfare.  I  must  have 
subor — or — ordination,  or  I'll  know  what  for.  Leave  him 
to  me,  then,  and  I'll  work  him  up,  never  fear.  George 
Johnston  isn't  the  blessed  babe  to  be  imposed  upon — -that's 


15  2  WILLY  REILLY. 

what  I  say.  Come,  my  good  fellow,  mark — mark  me  now. 
If  you  let  but  a  quarter  of — of — an  inch  of  a  lie  out  of  your 
lips,  you're  a  dead  man.     Are  you  all  charged,  gentlemen  T 

"  All  charged,  sergeant,  with  loyalty  and  poteen  at  any 
rate ;  hang  the  Pope." 

' '  Shoulder  arms — well  done.  Present  arms.  Where  is 
— is — this  rascal  ?  Oh,  yes,  here  he  is.  Well,  you  are 
there — are  you?" 

"  I'm  here,  captaiu." 

"Well,  blow  me,  that's  not — not — bad,  my  good  fellow; 
if  I'm  not  a  captain,  worse  men  have  been  so  (hiccough) ; 
that's  what  I  say." 

"  Hadn't  we  better  make  a  prisoner  of  him"  at  once,  and 
bring  him  to  Sir  Robert's  V  observed  another. 

"  Simpson,  hold — old — your  tongue,  I  say.  Curse  me, 
if  I'll  suffer  any  man  to  intherfare  with  me  in  the  discharge 
of  my  duty." 

11  How  do  we  know,"  said  another,  "  bat  he's  a  Rapparee 
in  disguise  1 — for  that  matter  he  may  be  Reilly  himself." 

"  Captain  and  gentlemen,"  said  Fergus,  "  if  you  have 
any  suspicion  of  me,  I'm  wiliin'  to  go  anywhere  you  like  ; 
and  above  all  things  I'd  like  to  go  to  Sir  Robert's,  bekaise 
they  know  me  there ;  many  a  good  bit  and  sup  I  got  in 
his  kitchen." 

"  Ho,  ho  !"  exclaimed  the  sergeant ;  "  now  I  have  you — 
now  I  know  whether  you  can  tell  truth  or  not.  Answer 
me  this:  Did  ever  Sir  Robert  himself  give  you  charity? 
Come  now." 

Fergus  perceived  the  drift  of  the  question  at  once.  The 
penurious  character  of  the  baronet  was  so  well  known 
throughout  the  whole  baron}r,  that  if  he  had  replied  in  the 
affirmative  every  man  of  them  would  have  felt  that  the 
assertion  was  a  lie,  and  he  would  consequently  have  been 
detected.     He  was  prepared,  however. 

"  Throth  then,  gintlenien,"  he  replied,  "  since  you  must 
have  the  truth ;  and  although  maybe  what  I'm  goin'  to  say 
won't  be  plaisin'  to  you,  as  Sir  Robert's  friends,  I  must 
come  out  wid  it ;  devil  resave  the  colour  of  his  money  ever 
I  seen  yet,  and  it  isn't  but  I  often  axed  him  for  it.  No — 
but  the  sarvints  often  sind  me  up  a  bit  from  the  kitchen 
below." 


WILLY   EEILLY.  93 

"  Well,  come,"  said  the  sergeant,  "if  you  have  been  Iyin' 
all  your  life,  you've  spoke  the  truth  now.  I  think  we  may 
let  him  go." 

"  I  don't  think  we  ought,"  said  one  of  them,  named 
Steen,  a  man  of  about  fifty  years  of  age,  and  of  Dutch 
descent;  "as  Barnet  said,  'We  don't  know  what  he  is/ and 
I  agree  with  him.  He  may  be  a  Rapparee  in  disguise,  or, 
what  is  worse,  Reilly  himself." 

"  What  Reilly  do  yez  mane,  gintlemen,  wid  submission  T 
asked  Fergus. 

"Why,  Willy  Reilly,  the  famous  Papish,"  replied  the 
sergeant.  (We  don't  wish  to  fatigue  the  reader  with  his 
drunken  stutterings.)  "It  has  been  sworn,  that  he's  train- 
ing the  Papishes  every  night  to  prepare  them  for  rebellion, 
and  there's  a  warrant  ouo  for  his  apprehension.  Do  you 
know  him  V* 

"  Throth  I  do,  well ;  and  to  tell  yez  the  truth,  he  doesn't 
stand  very  high  wid  his  own  sort." 

"  Why  so,  my  good  fellow  T 

"Bekaise  they  think  that  he  Seeps  too  much  company 
wid  Prodestans,  an'  that  he's  half  a  Prodestan  himself,  and 
that  it's  only  the  shame  that  prevents  him  from  goin'  over 
to  them  altogether.  Indeed,  it's  the  general  opinion  among 
the  Catholics " 

"  Papishes ! — you  old  dog." 

"  Well,  then,  Papishes — that  he  will — an'  troth  I  don't 
think  the  Papishes  would  put  much  trust  in  the  same  man." 

"  Where  are  you  bound  for,  now  ?  and  what  brings  you 
out  at  an  illegal  hour  on  this  lonely  road %n  asked  Steen. 

"  Troth,  then,  I'm  on  my  way  to  Mr.  Graham's  above  ; 
for  sure,  whenever  I'm  near  him,  poor  Paddy  Brennan 
never  wants  for  the  good  bit  and  sup,  and  the  comfortable 
straw  bed  in  the  barn.     May  God  reward  him  and  his  for  it ! " 

Now,  the  truth  was,  that  Graham,  a  wealthy  and  respect- 
able Protestant  farmer,  was  uncle  to  the  sergeant ;  a  fact 
which  Fergus  well  knew,  in  consequence  of  having  been  a 
house  servant  with  him  for  two  or  three  years. 

"Sergeant,"  said  the  Williamite  settler,  "I  think  this 
matter  may  be  easily  settled.  Let  two  of  the  men  go  back 
to  your  uncle's  with  him,  and  see  whether  they  know  him 
there  or  not." 


94  WILLY   RKILLY. 

"  Very  well,"  replied  the  sergeant,  "  let  you  and  Simpson 
go  back  with  him — I  have  no  objection.  If  my  uncle's 
people  don't  know  him,  why  then  bring  him  down  to  Sir 
Robert's,*? 

"  It's  not  fair  to  put  such  a  task  upon  a  man  of  my  age," 
replied  Steen,  "  when  you  know  that  you  have  younger  men 
here." 

"It  was  you  proposed  it,  then,"  said  the  sergeant,  "and  I 
say,  Steen,  if  you  be  a  true  man,  you  have  a  right  to  go, 
and  no  right  at  all  to  shirk  your  duty.  But  stop — I'll  settle 
it  in  a  word's  speaking :  here  you — you  old  Papish,  where 
are  you  % — oh,  I  see, — you're  there,  are  you  ?  Come  now, 
gentlemen,  shoulder  arms — all  right — present  arms.  Now, 
you  confounded  Papish,  you  say  that  you  have  often  slept 
in  my  uncle's  barn  1 " 

"  Is  Mr.  Graham  your  uncle,  sir  1 — bekaise  if  he  is,  I 
know  that  I'm  in  the  hands  of  a  respectable  man." 

"  Come,  now — was  there  anything  particular  in  the  inside 
of  that  barn  % — Gentlemen,  are  you  ready  to  slap  into  him, 
if  we  find  him  to  be  an  itnposthor  ?'• 

"  All  ready,  sergeant." 

"  Come  now,  you  blasted  Papish,  answer  me -" 

"Troth,  and  I  can  do  that,  sargin'.  You  say,  M;\ 
Graham  's  your  uncle,  an'  of  coorse,  you  have  often  been  in 
the  barn  yourself.  Very  well,  sir,  don't  you  know  that 
there's  a  prop  on  one  side  to  keep  Up  one  of  the  cupples 
that  gave  way  one  stormy  night,  and  there's  a  round  hole 
in  the  lower  part  of  the  door  to  let  the  cats  in  to  settle 
accounts  wid  the  mice  and  rats?" 

"  Come,  come,  boys,  it's  all  right.  He  has  described  the 
barn  to  a  hair.  That  will  do,  my  Papish  old  cock.  Come, 
I  say,  as  every  man  must  have  a  religion,  and  since  the 
Papishes  won't  have  ours,  why  the  devil  shouldn't  they  have 
one  of  their  own?" 

"  That's  dangerous  talk,"  said  Steen,  "  to  proceed  from 
your  lips,  sargeant.  It  smells  of  treason,  I  tell  you  ;  and  if 
you  had  spoken  these  words  in  the  days  of  the  great  and 
good  King  William,  you  might  have  felt  the  consequences." 

"Treason  and  King  William  be  hanged!"  replied  the 
sergeant,  who  was  naturally  a  good-natured,  but  out-spoken 
fellow, — "  sooner  than  I'd  take  up  a  poor  devil  of  a  beggar, 


WILLY  REILLY.  95 

that  has  enough  to  do  to  make  out  his  bit  and  sup.  G3  on 
about  your  business,  poor  devil;  you  shan't  be  molested. 
Go  to  my  uncle's,  where  you'll  get  a  bellyfull,  and  a  com- 
fortable bed  of  straw,  and  a  winnow-cloth  in  the  barn. 
Zounds ! — it  would  be  a  nice  night's  work  to  go  out  for 
Willy  Reilly,  and  to  bring  home  a  beggar-man  in  his 
place." 

This  rwas  a  narrow  escape  upon  the  part  of  Fergus,  who 
knew  that  if  they  had  made  a  prisoner  of  him,  and  produced 
him  before  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  who  was  a  notorious  per- 
secutor,.and  with  whom  the  Eed  Rapparee  was  now  located, 
he  would  unquestionably  have  been  hanged  like  a  dog, 
The  officer  of  the  party,  however — to  wit,  the  worthy  ser- 
geant— was  one  of  those  men  who  love  a  drop  of  the  '  native,' 
and  whose  heart  besides  it  expands  into  a  sorb  of  surly 
kindness  that  has  something  comical,  and  not  disagreeable, 
in  it.  In  addition  to  this,  he  never  felt  a  confidence  in  his 
own  authority  with  half  the  swagger  which  he  did  when 
three  quarters  gone.  Steen  and  he  were  never  friends,  nor 
indeed  was  Steen  ever  a  popular  man  among  his  acquaint- 
ances. In  matters  of  trade  and  business  he  was  notoriously 
dishonest,  and  in  the  moral  and  social  relations  of  life,  self- 
ish, uncandid,  and  treacherous.  The  sergeant,  on  the  other 
hand,  though  an  outspoken  and  flamiug  anti-Papist  in  theory, 
was,  in  point  of  fret,  a  good  friend  to  his  Roman  Catholic 
neighbours,  who  used  to  say  of  him  that  his  bark  was  worse 
than  his  bite. 

When  the  party  had  passed  on,  Fergus  stood  for  a 
moment  uncertain  as  to  where  he  should  direct  his  steps. 
He  had  not  long  to  wait,  however.  Reilly,  who  had  no 
thoughts  of  abandoning  him  to  the  mercy  of  the  military, 
without  at  least  knowing  his  fate,  nor,  we  may  add,  with- 
out a  firm  determination  of  raising  his  tenantry,  and 
rescuing  the  generous  fellow  at  every  risk,  immediately 
sprung  across  the  ditch,  and  joined  him. 

"  Well,  Fergus,"  said  he,  clasping  his  hand,  li  I  heard 
everything,  and  I  can  tell  you  that  every  nerve  in  my  body 
trembled  whilst  you  were  among  them." 

"  Why,"  said  Fergus,  "  I  knew  them  at  once  by  their 
voices,  and  only  that  I  changed  my  own  as  I  did,  I  won't 
say  but  they'd  have  nabbed  me." 


96  WILLY  REILLY. 

"The  test  of  the  barn  was  frightful ;  I  thought  you  were 
gone  ;  but  you  must  explain  that." 

"  Ay,  but  before  I  do,"  replied  Fergus,  "  where  are  we 
to  go?     Do  you  still  stand  for  widow  Buckley's?" 

"  Certainly,  that  woman  may  be  useful  to  rae." 

"  Well,  then,  we  may  as  well  jog  on  in  that  direction, 
and  as  we  go,  I  will  tell  you." 

"  How  then  did  you  come  to  describe  the  barn — or 
rather,  was  your  description  correct  f 

"Ay,  as  Gospel.  You  don't  know  that  by  the  best  of 
luck  and  providence  of  God,  I  was  two  years  and  a-half  an 
inside  labourer  with  Mr.  Graham.  As  is  usual,  all  the 
inside  men-servants  slept,  winther  and  summer,  in  the 
barn;  and  that  accounts  for  our  good  fortune  this  night. 
Only  for  that  scoundrel,  Steen,  however,  the  whole  thing 
would  not  have  signified  much  ;  but  he's  a  black  and  deep 
villain  that.  Nobody  likes  him  but  his  brother  scoundrel, 
Whitecraft,  and  he's  a  favourite  with  him,  bekaise  he's  an 
active  and  unscrupulous  tool  in  his  hands.  Many  a  time, 
when  these  men — military — militia — yeomen,  or  whatever 
they  call  them,  are  sent  out  by  this  same  Sir  Robert,  the  poor 
fellows  don't  wish  to  catch  what  they  call  the  unfortunate 
Papishes,  and  before  they  come  to  the  house  they'll  fire  off 
their  guns,  pretinding  to  be  in  a  big  passion,  but  only  to  give 
their  poor  neighbours  notice  to  escape  as  soon  as  they  can." 

In  a  short  time  they  reached  widow  Buckley's  cabin, 
who,  on  understanding  that  it  was  Reilly  who  sought 
admittance,  lost  not  a  moment  in  opening  the  door  and 
letting  them  in.  There  was  no  candle  lit  wheu  they  en- 
tered, but  there  was  a  bright  turf  fire  "  blinkin'  bonnilie" 
in  the  fire-place,  from  which  a  mellow  light  emanated,  that 
danced  upon  the  few  plain  plates  that  were  neatly  ranged 
upon  her  humble  dresser,  but  which  fell  still  more  strongly 
upon  a  clean  and  well-swept  hearth,  on  one  side  of  which 
was  an  humble  arm-chair  of  straw,  and  on  the  other  a 
grave,  but  placiddooking  cat,  purring,  with  half- closed  eyes, 
her  usual  song  for  the  evening. 

"  Lord  bless  us  !  Mr.  Reilly,  is  this  you  ]  Sure  it's  little 
I  expected  you,  any  way ;  but  come  when  you  will,  you're 
welcome.  And  who  ought  to  be  welcome  to  the  poor  ould 
widow,  if  you  wouldn't?" 


WILLY  REILLY.  97 

"  Take  a  stool  and  sit  down,  honest  man,"  she  said, 
addressing  Fergus,  "  and  you,  Mr.  Reilly,  take  my  chair ; 
it's  the  one  you  sent  me  yourself,  and  if  anybody  is  entitled 
to  a  sate  in  it,  surely  you  are.     I  must  light  a  rush." 

"  No,  Molly,"  replied  Reilly,  "  I  would  be  too  heavy  for 
your  frail  chair.  I  will  take  one  of  those  stout  stools, 
which  will  answer  me  better." 

She  then  lit  a  rush-light,  which  she  pressed  against  a 
small  cleft  of  iron  that  was  driven  into  a  wooden  shaft, 
about  three  feet  long,  which  stood  upon  a  bottom  that 
resembled  the  head  of  a  churn-staff.  Such  are  the  lights, 
and  such  the  candlestick?,  that  are  to  be  found  in  the 
cabins  and  cottages  of  Ireland. 

"  I  suppose,  Molly,"  said  Reilly,  "  you  are  surprised  at  a 
visit  from  me,  just  now  1" 

"  You  know,  Mr.  Reilly,"  she  replied,  "  that  if  you  came 
in  the  deadest  hours  of  the  night  you'd  be  welcome,  as  I  said 
— and  this  poor  man  is  welcome,  too — sit  over  to  the  fire, 
poor  man,  and  warm  yourself.  Maybe  you're  hungry ;  if 
you  are,  I'll  get  you  something  to  eat1?" 

"  Many  thanks  to  you,  ma'am, ;*  replied  Fergus,  "  I'm  not 
a  taste  hungry,  and  could  ait  nothing  now ;  I'm  much  obliged 
to  you  at  the  same  time." 

"Mr.  Reilly,  maybe  you'd  like  to  ait  a  bit — I  can  givo 
you  a  farrel  of  bread,  and  a  sup  o'  nice  goat's  milk.  God 
preserve  him  from  evil  that  gave  me  the  same  goats,  and 
that's  your  four  quarthers,  Mr.  Reilly.  But  sure  every- 
thing I  have  either  came  or  comes  from  your  hand  ;  and  if  J> 
can't  thank  you,  God  will  do  it  for  me,  and  that's  betther 
still." 

"  No  more  about  that,  Molly,  not  a  word  more.  Your 
long  residence  with  my  poor  mother,  and  your  affection  for 
her  in  all  her  trials  and  troubles,  entitle  you  to  more  than 
that  at  the  hands  of  her  son." 

"Mrs.  Buckley," observed  Fergus,  "  this  is  a  quiet-looking 
little  place  you  have  here." 

"  And  it  is  for  that  I  like  it,"  she  replied.  "  I  have  pace 
here,  and  the  noise  of  the  wicked  world  seldom  reaches  me 
in  it.  My  only  friend  and  companion  here  is  the  Almighty 
— praise  and  glory  be  to  His  name  ""—and  here  she  devoutly 
crossed  herself — "  barrin',  indeed,  when   the  light-hearted 

G 


9$  WILLY   REILLY. 

girshas*  come  a  lcailyee\  wid  their  wheels,  to  keep  the  poor 
ould  woman  company,  and  rise  her  ould  heart  by  their  light 
and  merry  songs,  the  cratures." 

"  That  must  be  a  relief  to  you,  Molly,"  observed  Reilly, 
who,  however,  could  with  difficulty  take  any  part  in  this 
little  dialogue. 

"  And  so,  indeed,  it  is,"  she  replied ;  "  and  poor  things, 
sure  if  their  sweethearts  do  come  at  the  dusk  to  help  them 
to  carry  home  their  spinning-wheels,  who  can  be  angry  wid 
them?     It's  the  way  of  life,  sure,  and  of  the  world." 

She  then  went  into  another  little  room — for  the  cabin 
was  divided  into  two — in  order  to  find  a  ball  of  woollen 
thread ;  her  principal  occupation  being  the  knitting  of 
mittens  and  stockings,  and  while  bustling  about,  Fergus 
observed  with  a  smile — 

u  Poor  Molly !  little  she  thinks  that  itTs  the  bachelors 
rather  than  any  particular  love  for  her  company,  that  brings 
the  thieves  here." 

"  Yes,  but,"  said  Eeilly,  "you  know  it's  the  custom  of 
the  country." 

"  Mrs.  Buckley,"  asked  Fergus,  "  did  the  sogers  ever  pay 
you  a  visit  ?" 

"They  did  once,"  she  replied,  "about  six  months  ago,  or 
more," 

"  What,  in  the  name  of  wondher,"  he  repeated,  "  could 
bring  them  to  you  1" 

"  They  were  out  huntin'  a  priest,"  she  replied,  "  that  had 
done  something  contrary  to  the  law." 

"  What  did  they  say,  Mrs.  Buckley,  and  how  did  they 
behave  themselves  V 

"  Why,"  she  answered,  "  they  axed  me  if  I  had  seen 
about  the  country  a  tight-looking  fat  little  man,  wid  black 
twinklin'  eyes  and  a  rosy  face,  wid  a  pair  o'  priest's  boots 
upon  him,  greased  wid  hog's  lard  1  I  said  no,  but  to  the 
revarse.  They  then  searched  the  cabin,  tossed  the  two  beds 
about — poor  Jemmy's — God  rest  my  boy's  sowl ! — an'  after- 
wards  my  own.     There   was   one   that  seemed  to  hould 


*  Young  girL;. 

t  This  meaus  to  spend  a  portion  of  the  day,  or  a  few  hours  of  the 
Sight  in  a  neighbour's  house,  in  agreeable  and  auiusiug  conversation. 


WILLY  REILLY.  i    9.9 

authority  over  the  rest,  and  he  axed  who  was  my  landlord? 
I  said.  I  had  no  landlord.  They  then  said,  that  surely  I 
must  pay  rent  to  some  one;  but  I  said  that  I  paid  rent  to 
nobody;  that  Mr.  Reilly  here,  God  bless  him,  gave  me  this 
house  and  garden  free." 

"  And  what  did  they  say  when  you  named  Mr.  Reilly  ?" 

"  Why,  they  said  he  was  a  dacent  Papish,  I  think  they 
called  it ;  and  that  there  wasn't  sich  another  among  them., 
They  then  lighted  their  pipes,  had  a  smoke,  went  about 
their  business,  and  I  saw  no  more  of  them  from  that  day 
to  this." 

Reilly  felt  that  this  conversation  was  significant,  and 
that  the  widow's  cabin  was  anything  but  a  safe  place  of 
refuge,  even  for  a  few  hours.  We  have  already  said  that 
he  had  been  popular  with  all  parties,  which  was  the  fact, 
until  his  acquaintance  with  the  old  squire  and  his  lovely 
daughter.  In  the  meantime,  the  loves  of  Willy  Reilly  and 
the  far-famed  Gooleen  Baton  had  gone  abroad  over  the 
whole  country;  and  the  natural  result  was,  that  a  large 
majority  among  those  who  were  anxious  to  exterminate  the 
Catholic  Church  by  the  rigour  of  bigoted  and  inhuman 
laws,  looked  upon  the  fact  of  a  tolerated  Papist  daring  to 
love  a  Protestant  heiress,  and  the  daughter  of  a  man  who 
was  considered  such  a  stout  prop  of  the  Establishment,  as 
an  act  that  deserved  death  itself.  Reilly's  affection  for  the 
•Gooleen  Baivn  was  considered,  therefore,  not  only  daring, 
but  treasonable.  Those  men,  then,  he  reflected,  who  had 
called  upon  her  while  in  pursuit  of  the  unfortunate  priest, 
had  become  acquainted  with  the  fact  of  her  dependence 
upon  his  bounty ;  and  he  took  it  for  granted,  very  natu- 
rally and  very  properly,  as  the  event  will  show,  that  now, 
while  "  on  his  keeping,"  it  would  not  be  at  all  extra- 
ordinary if  they  occasionally  searched  her  remote  and 
solitary  cabin,  as  a  place  where  he  might  be  likely  to 
conceal  himself.  For  this  night,  however,  he  experienced 
no  apprehension  of  a  visit  from  them,  but  with  what  cor- 
rectness of  calculation  we  shall  soon  see. 

"  Molly,"  said  he,  "  this  poor  man  and  I  must  sit  with 
you  for  a  couple  of  hours,  after  which  we  will  leave  you  to 
your  rest." 

"Indeed,  Mr.  Reilly,!'  she  replied,  "from  w^at-I  heard 


100  WILLY  REILLY. 

this  day,  I  can  make  a  purty  good  guess  at  the  raison  why 
you  are  here  now,  instead  of  bein'  in  your  own  comfortable 
house.  You  have  bitther  enemies ;  but  God — blessed  be 
His  name — is  stronger  than  any  of  them.  However,  I  wish 
you'd  let  me  get  you  and  that  poor  man  something  to  eat." 
This  kind  offer  they  declined,  and  as  the  short  rush-light 
was  nearly  burned  out,  and  as  she  had  not  another  ready, 
she  got  what  is  called  a  cam  or  grisset,  put  it  on  the  hearth- 
stone, with  a  portion  of  hog's  lard  in  it ;  she  then  placed 
the  lower  end  of  the  tongs  in  the  fire,  until  the  broad 
portion  of  them,  with  which  the  turf  is  gripped,  became 
red-hot;  she  then  placed  the  lard  in  the  grisset  between 
them,  and  squeezed  it  until  nothing  remained  but  pure  oil ; 
through  this  she  slowly  drew  the  peeled  rushes,  which  were 
instantly  saturated  with  the  grease,  after  which  she  left 
them  on  a  little  table  to  cool.  Among  the  poorer  classes — 
small  farmers  and  others — this  process  is  performed  every 
evening,  a  little  before  dusk.  Having  thus  supplied  them 
with  these  lights,  the  pious  widow  left  them  to  their  own 
conversation,  and  retired  to  the  little  room  in  order  to- 
repeat  her  rosary.  We  also  will  leave  them  to  entertain 
themselves  as  best  they  can  and  request  our  readers  to- 
follow  us  to  a  different  scene. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AN    ACCIDENTAL    INCIDENT   FAVOURABLE    TO    REILLY,    AND' 
A  CURIOUS   CONVERSATION. 

^ix^TE  return  to  the  party  from  whom  Fergus  Reilly 
Mt^P  had  so  narrow  an  escape.  As  our  readers  may 
«^g)  expect,  they  bent  their  steps  to  the  magnificent 
residence  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft.  That  gentleman  was 
alone  in  his  library,  surrounded  by  an  immense  collection 
of  books  which  he  never  read.  He  had  also  a  fine  collec- 
tion of  paintings,  of  which  he  knew  no  more  than  his 
butler,  nor  perhaps  so  much.  At  once  sensual,  penurious, 
and  bigoted,  he  spent  his  whole  time  in  private  profligacy 
— for  he  was  a  hypocrite,  too — in  racking  his  tenantry, 


WILLY  REILLY.  101 

and  exhibiting  himself  as  a  champion  for  Protestant  prin- 
ciples. Whenever  an  unfortunate  Roman  Catholic,  whether 
priest  or  layman,  happened  to  infringe  a  harsh  and  cruel 
law,  of  which,  probably,  he  had  never  heard, — who  so  active 
in  collecting  his  myrmidons,  in  order  to  uncover,  hunt,  and 
run  down  his  luckless  victim  %  And  yet  he  was  not  popular. 
'No  one,  whether  of  his  own  class  or  any  other,  liked  a  bone 
in  his  skin.  Nothing  could  infect  him  with  the  genial  and 
hospitable  spirit  of  the  country ;  whilst,  at  the  same  time, 
no  man  living  was  so  anxious  to  partake  of  the  hospitality  of 
others,  merely  because  it  saved  him  a  meal.  All  that  sus- 
tained his  character,  at  the  melancholy  period  of  which  we 
write,  was  what  people  called  the  uncompromising  energy 
of  his  principles  as  a  sound  and  vigorous  Protestant. 

"  Sink  them  all  together,"  he  exclaimed  upon  this  occa- 
sion, in  a  kind  of  soliloquy — "Church,  and  bishop,  and 
parson,  what  are  they  worth  unless  to  make  the  best  use 
we  can  of  them  ]  Here  I  am  prevented  from  going  to  that 
girl  to-night — and  that  barbarous  old  blockhead  of  a  squire, 
who  was  so  near  throwing  me  off  for  a  beggarly  Papist 
rebel ;  and  doubly,  trebly,  quadruply  cursed  be  that  same 
rebel  for  crossing  my  path  as  he  has  done.  The  cursed 
light-headed  jade  loves  him  too — there's  no  doubt  of  that — 
but  wait  until  I  get  him  in  my  clutches,  as  I  certainly  shall, 

and,  by ,  his  rebel  carcase  shall  feed  the  crows.     But 

what  noise  is  that  ?  They  have  returned ;  I  must  go  down 
and  learn  their  success." 

He  was  right.  Our  friend  the  tipsy  sergeant  and  his 
party  were  at  the  hall-door,  which  was  opened  as  he  went 
down,  and  he  ordered  lights  into  the  back  parlour.  In  a 
few  minutes  they  were  ushered  in,  where  they  found  him 
seated  as  magisterially  as  possible  in  a  large  arm-chair. 

"Well,  Johnston,"  said  he,  assuming  as  much  dignity  as 
he  could,  "what  has  been  your  success]" 

"  A  bad  evening's  sport,  sir ;  we  bagged  nothing — didn't 
see  a  feather." 

"  Talk  sense,  Johnston,"  said  he,  sternly,  "  and  none  of 
this  cant.     Did  you  see  or  hear  anything  of  the  rebel  V 

"  Why,  sir,  we  did ;  it  would  be  a  devilish  nice  business 
if  a  party,  led  and  commanded  by  George  Johnston,  should 
go  out  without  hearin'  and  seem*  something." 


102  WILLY   REILLY. 

"  Well,  bub  what  did  you  see  and  hear,  sir?" 

"Why,  we  saw  Reilly's  house,  and  a  very  comfortable 
one  it  is  ;  and  we  heard  from  the  servants  that  he  wasn't 
at  home." 

"  You're  drunk,  Johnston." 

"  No,  sir,  begging  your  pardon,  I'm  only  hmiiij ;  *  besides 
I  never  discharge  my  duty  half  so  well  as  when  I'm  drunk ; 
I  fear  no  colours  then." 

"Johnston,  if  I  ever  know  you  to  get  drunk  on  duty 
again  I  shall  have  you  reduced." 

"  Reduced  1"  replied  Johnston,  "  curse  the  fig  I  care 
whether  you  do  or  not ;  I'm  actin'  as  a  volunteer,  and  I'll 
resign." 

"  Come,  sir,"  replied  Sir  Robert,  "  be  quiet ;  I  will  over- 
look this,  for  you  are  a  very  good  man  if  you  could  keep 
yourself  sober." 

"  I  told  you  before,  Sir  Robert,  that  I'm  a  better  man 
when  I'm  drunk." 

"  Silence,  sir,  or  I  shall  order  you  out  of  the  room." 

"  Please  your  honour,"  observed  Steen,  "  I  have  a  charge 
to  make  against  George  Johnston." 

"  A  charge,  Steen — what  is  it  %  You  are  a  staunch, 
steady  fellow,  I  know — what  is  this  charge]" 

w  Why,  sir,  we  met  a  suspicious  character  on  the  old 
bridle-road  beyond  Reiily's,  aud  he  refused  to  take  him 
prisoner." 

"  A  poor  half-papist  beggar-man,  sir,"  replied  Johnston, 
"  who  was  on  his  way  to  my  uncle's  to  stop  there  for  the 
night.  Devil  a  scarecrow  in  Europe  would  exchange 
clothes  with  him." 

Steen  then  related  the  circumstances  with  which  our 
readers  are  acquainted,  adding  that  he  suggested  to  Johnston 
the  necessity  of  sending  a  couple  of  men  up  with  him  to 
ascertain  whether  what  he  said  was  true  or  not;  but  that 
he  flatly  refused  to  do  so — and  after  some  nonsense  about 
a  barn  he  let  him  off. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  sir,"  said  Johnston,  "I'll  hunt  a 
priest  or  a  Papish  that  breaks  the  law  with  any  man  livin', 

*  "  Hearty"  means  when  a  man  is  slightly  affected  by  drink  so  as 
to  feel  his  spirits  elevated. 


WILLY   REILLY.  103 

but  hang  me  if  ever  I'll  hunt  a  harmless  beggar-man  lookin' 
for  his  bit." 

At  this  period  of  the  conversation  the  Red  Rapparee, 
now  in  military  uniform,  entered  the  parlour,  accompanied 
by  some  others  of  those  violent  men. 

"  SteeD,"  said  the  baronet,  "  what  or  who  do  you  suppose 
this  ragged  ruffian  was  ]" 

"  Either  a  Rapparee,  sir,  or  Reilly  himself." 

"  O'Donnel,"  said  he,  addressing  the  Red  Robber,  "  what 
description  of  disguises  do  these  villains  usually  assume] 
Do  they  often  go  about  as  beggar-men]" 

"  They  may  have  changed  their  hand,  sir,  since  I  became 
a  legal  subject,  but,  before  that,  three-fourths  of  us — of 
them — the  villains  I  mane — went  about  in  the  shape  of 
beggars." 

"  That's  important,"  exclaimed  the  baronet :  "  Steen, 
take  half-a-dozen  mounted  men — a  cavalry  party  have 
arrived  here  a  little  while  ago,  and  are  waiting  further 
orders — I  thought  if  Reilly  had  been  secured  it  might  have 
been  necessary  for  them  to  escort  him  to  Sligo.  Well, 
take  half-a-dozen  mounted  men,  and  as  you  very  properly 
suggested,  proceed  with  all  haste  to  farmer  Graham's,  and 
see  whether  this  mendicant  is  there  or  not ;  if  he  is  there 
take  him  into  custody  at  all  events,  and  if  he  is  not,  then 
it  is  clear  he  is  a  man  for  whom  we  ought  to  be  on  the 
look-out." 

11 1  should  like  to  go  with  them,  your  honour,"  said  the 
Red  Rapparee.  < 

"  O'Donnel,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "  1  Iiave  other  business  for 
you  to-night." 

"  Well,  plaise  your  honour,"  said  O'Donnel,  "  as  they're 
goin'  in  that  direction,  let  them  turn  to  the  left  after  passin' 
the  little  strame  that  crosses  the  road,  I  mane  on  their  way 
home  ;  if  they  look  sharp  they'll  find  a  little  boreen  that — 
but  indeed  they'll  scarcely  make  it  out-  in  the  dark,  for  it's 
a  good  way  back  in  the  fields — I  mane  the  cabin  of  widow 
Buckley.  If  there's  one  house  more  than  another  in  the 
whole  country-side  where  Reilly  is  likely  to  take  shelter  in, 
that's  it.  He  gave  her  that  cabin  and  a  large  garden  free, 
and  besides  allows  her  a  small  yearly  pension.  But  re- 
member, you  can't  bring  your  horses  wid  you — you  must 


lOt  WILLY  REILLY. 

lave  some  of  the  men  to  take  charge  of  them  in  the  borecn 
till  you  come  back.     I  wish  you'd  let  me  go  with  them,  sir." 

"I  cannot,  O'Donnel;  I  have  other  occupation  for  you 
to-night." 

Three  or  four  of  the  men  declared  that  they  knew  the 
cottage  right  well,  and  could  find  it  out  without  much  diffi- 
culty. "They  had  been  there,"  they  said,  "some  six  or 
eight  months  before  upon  a  priest  chase."  The  matter  was 
so  arranged,  and  the  party  set  out  upon  their  expedition. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  these  men  had  their  journey 
for  nothing ;  but  at  the  same  time  one  fact  resulted  from 
it,  which  was,  that  the  ragged  mendicant  they  had  met 
must  have  been  some  one  well  worth  looking  after.  The 
deuce  of  it  was,  however,  that  owing  to  the  darkness  of  the 
night,  there  was  not  one  among  them  who  could  have 
known  Fergus  the  next  day,  if  they  had  met  him.  They 
knew,  however,  that  O'Donnel,  the  Eapparee,  was  a  good 
authority  on  the  subject,  and  the  discovery  of  the  pretended 
mendicant's  imposture  was  a  proof  of  it.  On  this  account, 
when  they  had  reached  the  boreen  alluded  to,  on  their 
return  from  Graham's,  they  came  to  the  resolution  of 
leaving  their  horses  in  charge,  as  had  been  suggested  to 
them,  and  in  silence,  and  with  stealthy  steps,  pounce  at 
once  into  the  widow's  cabin.  Before  they  arrived  there, 
however,  we  shall  take  the  liberty  of  preceding  them  for  a 
few  minutes,  and  once  more  transport  our  readers  to  its 
bright,  but  humble  hearth. 

About  three  hours  or  better  had  elapsed,  and  our  two 
friends  were  still  seated,  maintaining  the  usual  chat  with 
Mrs.  Buckley,  who  had  finished  her  prayers,  and  once  more 
rejoined  them. 

"Fergus,  like  a  good  fellow,"  whispered  Reilly,  "slip 
out  for  a  minute  or  two ;  there's  a  circumstance  I  wish  to 
mention  to  Molly — I  assure  you  it's  of  a  very  private  and 
particular  nature,  and  only  for  her  own  ear." 

"  To  be  sure,"  replied  Fergus  j  "  I  want,  at  all  events,  to 
stretch  my  legs,  and  to  see  what  the  night's  about." 

He,  accordingly,  left  the  cabin. 

"  Mrs.  Buckley,"  said  Reilly,  "  it  was  not  for  nothing  I 
eame  here  to-night.     I  have  a  favour  to  ask  of  you." 

"  Your  favour's  granted,  sir,"  she  replied — "granted,  Mr. 


WILLY   REILLY.  105 

Reilly,  even  before  I  hear  it — that  is,  supposin'  always  that 
it's  in  my  power  to  do  it  for  you." 

"  It  is  simply  to  carry  a  letter — and  he  certain  that  it 
shall  be  delivered  to  the  proper  person." 

"  Well,"  she  replied,  "  sure  that's  aisily  done.  And 
where  am  I  to  deliver  it  V  she  asked. 

"  That  I  shall  let  you  know  on  some  future  occasion — 
perhaps  within  the  course  of  a  week  or  so." 

"Well,  sir,"  she  replied,  "I'd  go  twenty  miles  to  deliver 
it — and  will  do  so  wid  a  heart  and  a  half." 

"  Well,  Molly,  I  can  tell  you  your  journey  won't  be  so 
far ;  but  there  is  one  thing  you  are  to  observe — you  must 
never  breathe  it  to  a  human  creature." 

"  I  thought  you  knew  me  better,  Mr.  Reilly." 

"  It  would  be  impossible,  however,  to  be  too  strict  here, 
because  you  don't  know  how  much  depends  upon  it." 

At  this  moment  Fergus  put  in  his  head,  and  said  :  "  For 
Christ's  sake,  snuff  out  the  candle,  aud  Reilly — fly  ! — There 
are  people  in  the  next  field  ! — quick — quick — !" 

Reilly  snatched  up  his  hat,  and  whispered  to  the  widow 
■ — "  Deny  that  you  saw  me,  or  that  there  was  any  one  here; 
— Put  out  the  candle! — they  might  see  our  figures  darken- 
ing the  light  as  we  go  out !" 

Fergus  and  "Reilly  immediately  planted  themselves  behind 
a  whitethorn  hedge,  in  a  field  adjoining  the  cabin,  in  order 
to  reconnoitre  the  party,  whoever  they  might  be,  which 
they  could  do  in  safety.  This  act  of  reconnoitering,  how- 
ever, was  performed  by  the  ear,  and  not  at  all  by  the  eye; 
the  darkness  of  the  night  rendered  that  impossible.  Of 
course,  the  search  in  the  widow's  cabin  was  equally 
fruitless. 

"  Now,"  whispered  Reilly,  "  we'll  go  in  a  line  parallel 
with  the  road;  "but  at  a  safe  distance  from  them,  until 
they  reach  the  cross-roads.  If  they  turn  towards  my  house, 
we  are  forewarned,  but  if  they  turn  towards  Sir  Robert's  it 
is  likely  that  I  may  have  an  opportunity  of  securing  my 
cash  and  papers." 

On  reaching  the  cross-roads  alluded  to,  the  party,  much 
to  the  satisfaction  of  Reilly  and  his  companion,  did  turn 
towards  the  residence  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft ;  thus 
giving  the  fugitives  full  assurance  that  nothing  further  was 


10G  WILLY   REILLY. 

to  be  apprehended  from  them  that  night.  The  men  in  fact 
felt  fatigued  and  were  anxious  to  get  to  bed. 

After  approaching  Reilly's  house  very  cautiously,  and 
with  much  circumspection — not  an  outhouse,  or  other  place 
of  concealment,  having  been  left  unexamined — they  were 
about  to  enter,  when  Reilly,  thinking  that  no  precaution  on 
such  an  occasion  ought  to  be  neglected,  said : 

"  Fergus,  we  are  so  far  safe  ;  but,  under  all  circumstances, 
I  think  it  right  and  prudent  that  you  should  keep  watch 
outside.  Mark  me,  I  will  place  Tom  Corrigan — you  know 
him — at  this  window,  and  if  you  happen  to  see  anything  in 
the  shape  of  a  human  being,  or  to  hear,  for  instance,  any 
noise,  give  the  slightest  possible  tap  upon  the  glass,  and 
that  will  be  sufficient." 

It  was  so  arranged,  and  Reilly  entered  the  house ;  but, 
as  it  happened,  Fergus's  office  proved  a  sinecure ;  although, 
indeed,  when  we  consider  his  care  and  anxiety,  we  can 
scarcely  say  so.  At  all  events,  Reilly  returned  in  about 
half  an  hour,  bearing  under  his  arm  a  large  dark  portfolio, 
which,  by  the  way,  was  securely  locked. 

"  Is  all  right  ?"  asked  Fergus. 

"  All  is  right,"  replied  the  other.  "  The  servants  have 
entered  into  an  arrangement  to  sit  up,  two  in  turn  each 
night,  so  as  to  be  ready  to  give  me  instant  admittance, 
whenever  I  may  chance  to  come." 

"  But  now,  where  are  you  to  place  these  papers?"  asked 
his  companion.     "  That's  a  difficulty." 

"  It  is,  I  grant,"  replied  Reilly,  "  but  after  what  has  hap- 
pened, I  think  widow  Buckley's  cabin  the  safest  place  for  a 
day  or  two.  Only  that  the  hour  is  so  unseasonable,  I  could 
feel  little  difficulty  in  finding  a  proper  place  of  security  for 
them,  but  as  it  is,  we  must  only  deposit  them  for  the  pre- 
sent with  the  widow." 

The  roads  of  Ireland  at  this  period — if  roads  they  could 
be  called — were  not  only  in  a  most  shameful,  but  dangerous 
state.  In  summer  they  were  a  foot  deep  with  dust,  and  in 
winter,  at  least  eighteen  inches  with  mud.  This,  however, 
was  by  no  means  the  worst  of  it.  Tiiey  were  studded,  at 
due  intervals,  with  ruts  so  deep,  that  if  a  horse  happened 
to  get  into  one  of  them,  he  went  down  to  the  saddle-skirts. 
They  were  treacherous,  too,  and  such  as  no  caution  could 


WILLY  EEILLY.  107 

guard  against ;  because,  where  the  whole  surface  of  the 
road  was  one  mass  of  mud,  it  was  impossible  to  distinguish 
these  horse-traps  at  all.  Then,  in  addition  to  these,  were 
deep  gullies  across  the  roads,  worn  away  by  small  rills, 
proceeding  from  rivulets  in  the  adjoining  uplands,  which 
were  principally  dry,  or  at  least  mere  threads  of  water  in 
summer,  but  in  winter  became  pigmy  torrents  that  tore  up 
the  roads  across  which  they  passed,  leaving  them  in  the 
dangerous  state  we  have  described. 

As  Reilly  and  his  companion  had  get  out  upon  the  road, 
they  were  a  good  deal  surprised,  and  not  a  little  alarmed, 
to  see  a  horse,  without  a  rider,  struggling  to  extricate  him- 
self out  of  one  of  the  ruts  in  question. 

"  What  is  this ?"  said  Fergus,  "be  on  your  guard." 

"  The  horse,"  observed  Reilly,  "  is  without  a  rider ;  see 
what  it  means." 

Fergus  approached  with  all  due  caution,  and  on  ex- 
amining the  place  discovered  a  man  lying  apparently  in  a 
state  of  insensibility. 

"  I  fear,"  said  he,  on  returning  to  Reilly,  "  that  his  rider 
has  been  hurt ;  he  is  lying  senseless  about  two  or  three 
yards  before  the  horse." 

"My  God!"  exclaimed  the  other,  "perhaps  he  has  been 
killed;  let  us  instantly  assist  him.  Hold  this  portfolio 
whilst  I  render  him  whatever  assistance  I  can." 

As  he  spoke  they  heard  a  heavy  groan,  and  on  approach 
ing  found  the  man  sitting,  but  still  unable  to  rise. 

"  You  have  unfortunately  been  thrown,  sir,"  said  Reilly : 
"  I  trust  in  God  you  are  not  seriously  hurt." 

"  I  hope  not,  sir,"  replied  the  man,  "  but  I  was  stunned 
and  have  been  insensible  for  some  time ;  how  long  I  cannot 
say." 

"  Good  gracious !  sir,"  exclaimed  Reilly,  "  is  this  Mr. 
Brown?" 

"  It  is,  Mr.  Reilly ;  for  heaven's  sake  aid  me  to  my  limbs 
—that  is,  if  I  shall  be  able  to  stand  upon  them." 

Reilly  did  so,  but  found  that  he  could  not  stand  or  walk 
without  assistance.  The  horse,  in  the  meantime,  had  ex- 
tricated himself. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Brown,"  said  Reilly,  "  you  must  allow  me 
to  assist  you  home.     It  is  very  fortunate  that  you  have  not 


lUtf  WILLY  REILLY. 

many  perches  to  go.  This  poor  man  will  lead  your  horse 
up  to  the  stable." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Reilly,"  replied  the  gentleman,  "and 
in  requital  for  your  kindness,  you  must  take  a  bed  at  my 
house  to-night.  I  am  aware  of  your  position,"  he  added, 
in  a  confidential  voice,  "and  that  you  cannot  safely  sleep 
in  your  own ;   with  me  you  will  be  secure." 

Reilly  thanked  him,  and  said  that  this  kind  offer  was 
most  welcome  and  acceptable ;  as,  in  point  of  fact,  he 
scarcely  knew  that  night  where  to  seek  rest  with  safety. 
They  accordingly  proceeded  to  the  Parsonage — for  Mr. 
Brown  was  no  other  than  the  Protestant  Rector  of  the 
parish,  a  man  with  whom  Eeilly  was  on  the  most  friendly 
and  intimate  terms,  and  a  man,  we  may  add,  who  omitted 
no  opportunity  of  extending  shelter,  protection,  and  counte- 
nance to  such  Roman  Catholics  as  fell  under  the  suspicion 
or  operation  of  the  law.  On  this  occasion  he  had  been 
called  very  suddenly  to  the  death-bed  of  a  parishioner,  and 
was  then  on  his  return  home,  after  having  administered  to 
the  dying  man  the  last  consolations  of  religion. 

On  reaching  the  Parsonage,  Fergus  handed  the  portfolio 
to  its  owner,  and  withdrew  to  seek  shelter  in  some  of  his 
usual  haunts  for  the  night;  but  Mr.  Brown,  aided  by  his 
wife,  who  sate  up  for  him,  contrived  that  Reilly  should  be 
conducted  to  a  private  room,  without  the  knowledge  of  the 
servants,  who  were  sent  as  soon  as  possible  to  bed.  Before 
Reilly  withdrew,  however,  that  night,  he  requested  Mr. 
Brown  to  take  charge  of  his  money  and  family  papers, 
which  the  latter  did,  assuring  him  that  they  should  be 
forthcoming  whenever  he  thought  proper  to  call  for  them. 
Mr.  Brown  had  not  been  seriously  hurt,  and  was  able  in  a 
day  or  two  to  pay  the  usual  attention  to  the  discharge  of 
his  duties. 

Reilly,  having  been  told  where  to  find  his  bedroom, 
Tetired  with  confidence  to  rest.  Yet  we  can  scarcely  term 
it  rest,  considering  the  tumultuous  and  disagreeable  events 
of  the  evening.  He  began  to  ponder  upon  the  life  of  per- 
secution to  which  Miss  Folliard  must  necessarily  be  exposed, 
in  consequence  of  her  father's  impetuous  aud  fiery  temper  ; 
and,  indeed,  the  fact  was,  that  he  felt  this  reflection 
infinitely  more  bitter  than  any  that  touched  himself.     In 


WILLY  REILLY.  109 

these  affectionate  calculations  of  her  domestic  persecution 
he  was  a  good  deal  mistaken,  however.  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft  had  now  gained  a  complete  ascendency  over  the 
disposition  and  passions  of  her  father.  The  latter,  like 
many  another  country  squire — especially  of  that  day-— when 
his  word  and  will  were  law  to  his  tenants  and  dependants, 
was  a  very  great  man  indeed,  when  dealing  with  them. 
He  could  bluster  and  threaten,  and  even  carry  his  threats 
into  execution  with  a  confident  swagger  that  had  more  of 
magisterial  pride  and  the  pomp  of  property  in  it  than  a 
sense  of  either  right  or  justice.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
let  him  meet  a  man  of  his  own  rank,  who  cared  nothing 
about  his  authority  as  a  magistrate,  or  his  assumption  as  a 
man  of  large  landed  property,  and  he  was  nothing  but  a 
poor  weak-minded  tool  in  his  hands.  So  far  our  description 
is  correct ;  but  when  such  a  knave  as  Sir  Robert  Whitecraf  t 
came  in  his  way — a  knave  at  once  calculating,  deceitful, 
plausible,  and  cunning — why  our  worthy  old  squire,  who 
thought  himself  a  second  Solomon,  might  be  taken  by  the 
nose,  and  led  round  the  whole  barony. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  he  had  sapieutly  laid  down  his 
plans  to  harass  and  persecute  his  daughter  into  a  marriage 
with  Sir  Robert,  and  would  have  probably  driven  her  from 
under  his  roof,  had  he  not  received  the  programme  of  his 
conduct  from  Whitecraft.  That  cowardly  caitiff  had  a 
double  motive  in  this.  He  found  that  if  her  father  should 
"pepper  her  with  persecution,"  as  the  old  fellow  said,  before 
marriage,  its  consequences  might  fall  upon  his  own  unlucky 
head  afterwards — in  other  words,  that  Helen  would  most 
assuredly  make  him  then  suffer,  to  some  purpose,  for  all 
that  his  pretensions  to  her  hand  had  occasioned  her  to 
undergo  previous  to  their  union  ;  for  in  truth,  if  there  was 
one  doctrine  which  Whitecraft  detested  more  than  another 
— and  with  good  reason  too — it  was  that  of  Retribution. 

"Mr.  Folliard,"  said  Whitecraft,  in  the  very  last  conver- 
sation they  had  on  this  subject,  "you  must  not  persecute 
your  daughter  on  my  account." 

"  Mustn't  I  %  Why  hang  it,  Sir  Robert,  isn't  persecution 
the  order  of  the  day  ?  If  she  doesn't  marry  you  quietly 
and  willingly,  we'll  turn  her  out,  and  hunt  her  like  a  priest." 

"No,   Mr.   Folliard,   violence   will  never  do.     On   the 


110  WILLY  REILLY. 

contrary,  you  must  change  your  hand,  and  try  an  opposite 
course.  If  you  wish  to  rivet  her  affections  upon  that 
Jesuitical  traitor  still  more  strongly,  persecute  her;  for 
there  is  nothing  in  this  life  that  strengthens  love  so  much 
as  opposition  and  violence.  The  fair  ones  begin  to  look 
upon  themselves  as  martyrs,  and  in  proportion  as  you  are 
severe  and  inexorable,  so,  in  proportion,  are  they  resolved 
to  win  the  crown  that  is  before  them.  I  would  not  press 
your  daughter  but  that  I  believe  love  to  be  a  thing  that 
exists  before  marriage — never  after.  There's  the  honey- 
moon, for  instance.  Did  ever  mortal  man  or  mortal  woman 
hear  or  dream  of  a  second  honey-moon  1  No,  sir.  for  Cupid, 
like  a  large  blue-bottle,  falls  into,  and  is  drowned  in  the 
honey-pot." 

"  Confound  me."  replied  the  squire,  "  if  I  understand  a 
word  you  say.  However,  I  dare  say  it  may  be  very  good 
sense  for  all  that ;  for  you  always  had  a  long  noddle.  Go 
on." 

"  My  advice  to  you,  then,  sir,  is  this —make  as  few  allu- 
sions to  her  marriage  with  me  as  possible ;  but,  in  the 
meantime,  you  may  praise  me  a  little,  if  you  wish ;  but, 
above  all  things,  don't  run  down  Eeilly  immediately  after 
paying  either  my  mind  or  person  any  compliment.  Allow 
the  young  lady  to  remain  quiet  for  a  time.  Treat  her  with 
your  usual  kindness  and  affection;  for  it  is  possible,  after 
all,  that  she  may  do  more  from  her  tenderness  and  affection 
for  you,  than  we  could  expect  from  any  other  motive ;  at 
all  events,  until  we  shall  succeed  in  hanging  or  transporting 
this  rebellious  scoundrel." 

"  Very  good — so  he  is.  Good  William !  what  a  son-in- 
law  I  should  have!  I  who  transported  one  priest  already!" 

"  Well,  sir,  as  I  was  saying,  until  we  shall  have  succeeded 
in  hanging  or  transporting  him.  The  first  would  be  the 
safest  no  doubt ;  but  until  we  shall  be  able  to  accomplish 
either  one  or  the  other,  we  have  not  much  to  expect  in  the 
shape  of  compliance  from  your  daughter.  When  the  villain 
is  removed,  however,  hope,  on  her  part,  will  soon  die  out — 
love  will  lose  its  pabulum.'" 

"It's  what*?"  asked  the  squire,  staring  at  him  with  a-pair 
of  round  eyes  that  were  full  of  perplexity  and  wonder. 

"  Why,  it  means  food,  or  rather  fodder." 


WILLY  REILLY.  Ill 

"Curse  you,  sir,"  replied  the  squire,  indignantly ;  "do 
you  want  to  make  a  beast  of  my  daughter  V 

"But  it's  a  word,  sir,  applied  by  the  poets,  as.  the  food 
of  Cupid." 

"  Cupid !  I  thought  he  was  drowned  in  the  honey-pot, 
yet  he's  up  again,  and  as  brisk  as  ever,  it  appears.  How- 
ever, go  on — let  us  understand  fairly  what  you're  at.  I 
think  I  see  a  glimpse  of  it ;  and  knowing  your  character 
upon  the  subject  of  persecution  as  I  do,  it's  more,  I  must 
say,  than  I  expected  from  you.     Go  on — I  bid  you." 

"I  say,  then,  sir,  that  if  Reilly  were  either  hanged  or 
out  of  the  country,  the  consciousness  of  this  would  soon 
alter  matters  with  Miss  Folliard.  If  you,  then,  sir,  will 
enter  into  an  agreement  with  me,  I  shall  undertake  so  to 
make  the  laws  bear  upon  Eeilly  as  to  rid  either  the  world 
or  the  country  of  him  ;  and  you  shall  promise  not  to  press 
upon  your  daughter  the  subject  of  her  marriage  with  me 
until  then.  Still,  there  is  one  thing  you  must  do ;  and 
that  is,  to  keep  her  under  the  strictest  surveillance." 

"  What  the  devil's  that,"  said  the  squire. 

"  It  means,"  returned  his  expected  son-in-law,  "  that  she 
must  be  well  watched ;  but  without  feeling  that  she  is  so." 

"Would  it  not  be  better  to  lock  her  up  at  once1?"  said 
her  father.     "  That  would  be  making  the  matter  sure." 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Whitecraft.  "  So  sure  as  you  lock 
her  up,  so  sure  she  will  break  prison." 

"  Well,  upon  my  soul,"  replied  her  father,  "  I  can't  see 
that.  A  strong  lock  and  key  are  certainly  the  best  surety 
for  the  due  appearance  of  any  young  woman  disposed  to 
run  away.  I  think  the  best  way  would  be  to  make  her 
feel  at  once  that  her  father  is  a  magistrate,  and  commit  her 
to  her  own  room  until  called  upon  to  appear." 

Whitecraft,  whose  object  was  occasionally  to  puzzle  his 
friend,  gave  a  cold  grin,  and  added : 

"  I  suppose  your  next  step  would  be  to  make  her  put  in 
security.  No — no,  Mr.  Folliard :  if  you  will  be  advised  by 
me,  try  the  soothing  system ;  antiphlogistic  remedies  are 
always  the  best  in  a  case  like  hers." 

"  Anti — what  ?  Curse  me,  if  I  can  understand  every 
tenth  word  you  say.  However,  I  give  you  great  credit, 
Whitecraft;  for  upon  my  soul  I  didn't  think  you  knew 


112  WILLY   REILLY. 

half  so  much  as  you  do.  That  last,  however,  is  a  tickler — 
a  nut  that  I  can't  crack.  I  wish  I  could  only  get  my 
tongue  about  it,  till  I'd  send  it  among  the  Grand  Jury,  and 
maybe  there  wouldn't  be  wigs  on  the  green  in  making  it 
out," 

"  Yes,  I  fancy  it  would  teach  them  a  little  supererogation." 

"  A  little  what  1  Is  it  love  that  has  made  you  so  learned, 
Whitecraf t,  or  so  unintelligible,  which  »  Why,  man,  if  your 
passion  increases,  in  another  week  there  won't  be  three 
men  out  of  Trinity  College  able  to  understand  you.  You 
will  become  a  perfect  oracle.  But,  in  the  meantime,  let  us 
see  how  the  arrangement  stands.  Imprimis,  you  are  to 
hang  or  transport  Reilly;  and,  until  then,  I  am  not  to 
annoy  my  daughter  with  any  allusions  to  this  marriage ; 
but,  above  all  things,  not  to  compare  you  and  Reilly  with 
one  another  in  her  presence,  lest  it  might  strengthen  her 
prejudices  against  him." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Folliard,  I  did  not  say  so  ;  I 
fear  no  comparison  with  the  fellow." 

"  No  matter,  Sir  Robert,  if  you  did  not  knock  it  down 
you  staggered  it.  Omitting  the  comparison,  however,  I 
suppose  that  so  far  I  am  right." 

"I  think  so,  sir,"  replied  the  other,  conscious,  after  all, 
that  he  had  got  a  touch  of  "Roland  for  his  Oliver." 

Then  he  proceeded  :  "  I'm  to  watch  her  closely,  only  she's 
not  to  know  it.  Now,  I'll  tell  you  what,  Sir  Robert,  I 
know  you  carry  a  long  noddle,  with  more  hard  words  in  it 
than  I  ever  gave  you  credit  for — but  with  regard  to  what 
you  expect  from  me  now -" 

"  I  don't  mean  that  you  should  watch  her  personally 
yourself,  Mr.  Folliard." 

"  I  suppose  you  don't ;  I  didn't  think  you  did ;  but  I'll 
tell  you  what — place  the  tv/elve  labours  of  Hercules  before 
me,  and  I'll  undertake  to  perform  them,  if  you  wish,  but  to 
watch  a  woman,  Sir  Robert — and  that  woman  keen  and 
sharp  upon  the  cause  of  such  vigilance — without  her  know- 
ing it  in  one  half-hour's  time,  that  is  a  task  that  never  was, 
can,  or  will  be  accomplished.  In  the  meantime  we  must 
only  come  as  near  its  accomplishment  as  we  can." 

"  Just  so,  sir ;  we  can  do  no  more.  Remember,  then, 
that  you  perform  your  part  of  this  arrangement,  and,  with 


WILLY   REILLY.  113 

the  blessing  of  God,  I  shall  leave  nothing  undone  to  perform 
mine." 

Thus  closed  this  rather  extraordinary  conversation  ;  after 
which  Sir  Robert  betook  himself  home,  to  reflect  upon  the 
best  means  of  performing  his  part  of  it,  with  what  quickness 
and  despatch,  and  with  what  success,  our  readers  already 
know. 

The  old  squire  was  one  of  those  characters  who  never 
are  so  easily  persuaded  as  when  they  do  not  fully  compre- 
hend the  argument  used  to  convince  them.  Whenever  the 
squire  found  himself  a  little  at  fault,  or  confounded  by 
either  a  difficult  word  or  a  hard  sentence,  he  always  took 
it  for  granted  that  there  was  something  unusually  profound 
and  clever  in  the  matter  laid  before  him.  Sir  Robert  knew 
this,  and  on  that  account  played  him  off  to  a  certain  extent. 
He  was  too  cunning,  however,  to  darken  any  part  of  the 
main  argument  so  far  as  to  prevent  its  drift  from  being 
fully  understood,  and  thereby  defeating  his  own  purpose. 


CHAPTER  YIIL 

A   CONFLAGRATION— AN   ESCAPE  —AND   AN   ADVENTURE. 

^T^TE  have  said  that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  was  any- 
^Y^P  thing  but  a  popular  man — and  we  might  have 
r®J  added,  that  unless  among  his  own  clique  of  bigots 
and  persecutors,  he  was  decidedly  unpopular  among  Protes- 
tants in  general.  In  a  few  days  after  the  events  of  the 
night  we  have  described,  Reilly,  by  the  advice  of  Mr. 
Brown's  brother,  an  able  and  distinguished  lawyer,  gave  up 
the  possession  of  his  immense  farm,  dwelling-house,  and 
offices  to  the  landlord.  In  point  of  fact,  this  man  had 
taken  the  farm  for  Reilly 's  father,  in  his  own  name,  a  step 
which  many  of  the  liberal  and  generous  Protestants  of  that 
period  were  in  the  habit  of  taking,  to  protect  the  property 
for  the  Roman  Catholics,  from  such  rapacious  scoundrels  as 
Whitecraft,  and  others  like  him,  who  had  accumulated  the 
greater  portion  of  their  wealth  and  estates  by  the  blackest 

H 


114  WILLY   REILLY. 

and  most  iniquitous  political  profligacy  and  oppression. 
For  about  a  month  after  the  first  night  of  the  unsuccessful 
pursuit  after  Eeilly,  the  whole  country  was  overrun  with 
military  parties,  and  such  miserable  inefficient  police  as  then 
existed.  In  the  meantime,  Eeilly  escaped  every  toil  and 
snare  that  had  been  laid  for  him.  Sir  Eobert  Whitecraft, 
seeing  that  hitherto  he  had  set  them  at  defiance,  resolved 
to  glut  his  vengeance  on  his  property,  since  he  could  not 
arrest  himself.  A  description  of  his  person  had  been, 
almost  from  the  commencement  of  the  proceedings,  pub- 
lished in  the  Hue-and-Cry,  and  he  had  been  now  outlawed. 
As  even  this  failed,  Sir  Eobert,  as  we  said,  came  with  a 
numerous  party  of  his  myrmidons,  bringing  along  with 
them  a  large  number  of  horses,  carts,  and  cars.  The  house 
at  this  time  was  in  the  possession  only  of  a  keeper,  a  poor, 
feeble  man,  with  a  wife  and  a  numerous  family  of  small 
children,  the  other  servants  having  fled  from  the  danger  in 
which  their  connexion  with  Eeilly  involved  them.  Sir 
Eobert,  however,  very  deliberately  brought  up  his  cars  and 
other  vehicles,  and  having  dragged  out  all  the  most  valuable 
part  of  the  furniture,  piled  it  up,  and  had  it  conveyed  to  his 
own  out-houses,  where  it  was  carefully  stowed.  This  act, 
however,  excited  comparatively  little  attention,  for  such 
outrages  were  not  unfrequently  committed  by  those  who 
had,  or  at  least  who  thought  they  had,  the  law  in  their  own 
hands.  It  was  now  dusk,  and  the  house  had  been  gutted 
of  all  that  had  been  most  valuable  in  it — but  the  most 
brilliant  part  of  the  performance  was  yet  to  come.  We 
mean  no  contemptible  pun.  The  young  man's  dwelling- 
house  and  office-houses  were  ignited  at  this  moment  by  this 
man's  military  and  other  official  minions,  and  in  about 
twenty  minutes  they  were  all  wrapped  in  one  red,  merciless 
mass  of  flame.  The  country  people,  on  observing  this  fear- 
ful conflagration,  flocked  from  all  quarters,  but  a  cordon  of 
outposts  was  stationed  at  some  distance  around  the  premises, 
to  prevent  the  peasantry  from  marking  the  chief  actors  in 
this  nefarious  outrage.  Two  gentlemen,  however,  ap- 
proached, who,  having  given  their  names,  were  at  once 
admitted  to  the  burning  premises.  These  were  Mr.  Brown, 
the  clergyman,  and  Mr.  Hastings,  the  actual  and  legal 
proprietor  of  all  that  had  been  considered  Eeilly's  property. 


WILLY  REILLY.  115 

Both  of  them  observed  that  Sir  Eoberfc  was  the  busiest 
man  among  them,  and  upon  making  inquiries  from  the 
party,  they  were  informed  that  they  acted  by  his  orders, 
and  that,  moreover,  he  was  himself  the  very  first  individual 
who  had  set  fire  to  the  premises.  The  clergyman  made  his 
way  to  Sir  Eobert,  on  whose  villanous  countenance  he  could 
read  a  dark  and  diabolical  triumph. 

"  Sir  Eobert  Whitecraft,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  "how  comes 
such  a  wanton  and  unnecessary  waste  of  property?" 

"Because,  sir,"  replied  that  gentleman,  "it  is  the  pro- 
perty of  a  Popish  rebel  and  outlaw,  and  is  confiscated  to  the 
State." 

"But  do  you  possess  authority  for  this  conduct? — Are 
you  the  State?" 

"  In  the  spirit  of  our  Protestant  Constitution,  certainly. 
I  am  a  loyal  Protestant  magistrate,  and  a  man  of  rank,  and 
will  hold  myself  accountable  for  what  I  do  and  have  done. 
Come  you,  there,"  he  added,  "who  have  knocked  down  the 
pump,  take  some  straw,  light  it  up,  and  put  it  with  pitch- 
forks upon  the  lower  end  of  the  stable  3  it  has  not  yet  caught 
the  flames." 

This  order  was  accordingly  complied  with,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  scene,  if  one  could  disassociate  the  mind  from 
the  hellish  spirit  which  created  it,  had  something  terribly 
sublime  in  it. 

Mr.  Hastings,  the  gentleman  who  accompanied  the  clergy- 
man, the  real  owner  of  the  property,  looked  on  with  apparent 
indifference,  but  uttered  not  a  word.  Indeed,  he  seemed 
rather  to  enjoy  the  novelty  of  the  thing  than  otherwise, 
and  passed  with  Mr.  Brown  from  place  to  place,  as  if  to 
obtain  the  best  points  for  viewing  the  fire. 

Eeilly's  residence  was  a  long,  large,  two-story  house, 
deeply  thatched;  the  kitchen,  containing  pantry,  laundry, 
scullery,  and  all  the  usual  appurtenances  connected  with  it, 
was  a  continuation  of  the  larger  house,  but  it  was  a  story 
lower,  and  also  deeply  thatched.  The  out-offices  ran  in  a 
long  line  behind  the  dwelling-house,  so  that  both  ran 
parallel  with  each  other,  and  stood  pretty  close  besides,  for 
the  yard  was  a  narrow  one.  In  the  meantime,  the  night, 
though  dry,  was  dark  and  stormy.  The  wind  howled 
through  the  adjoining  trees  like  thunder,  roared  along  the 


1  16  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

neighbouring  hills,  and  swept  down  in  savage  whirlwinds 
to  the  bottom  of  the  lowest  valleys.  The  greater  portion 
of  the  crowd,  who  were  standing  outside  the  cordon  we  have 
spoken  of,  fled  home,  as  the  awful  gusts  grew  stronger  and 
stronger,  in  order  to  prevent  their  own  houses  from  being 
stripped  or  unroofed,  so  that  very  few  remained  to  witness 
the  rage  of  the  conflagration  at  its  full  height. 

The  Irish  peasantry  entertain  a  superstition  that  when- 
ever a  strong  storm  of  wind,  without  rain,  arises,  it  has 
been  occasioned  by  the  necromantic  spell  of  some  guilty 
sorcerer,  who,  first  having  sold  himself  to  the  devil,  after- 
wards raises  him  for  some  wicked  purpose ;  and  nothing 
but  the  sacrifice  of  a  black  dog  or  a  black  cock — the  one 
without  a  white  hair,  and  the  other  without  a  white  feather 
— can  prevent  him  from  carrying  away,  body  and  soul,  the 
individual  who  called  him  up,  accompanied  by  such  terrors.. 
In  fact  the  night,  independently  of  the  terrible  accessory 
of  the  fire,  was  indescribably  awful.  Thatch  portions  of 
the  ribs  and  roofs  of  houses  were  whirled  along  through 
the  air;  and  the  sweeping  blast,  in  addition  to  its  own 
bowlings,  was  burdened  with  the  loud  screamings  of  women 
and  children,  and  the  stronger  shoutings  of  men,  as  they 
attempted  to  make  each  other  audible,  amidst  the  roaring 
of  the  tempest. 

This  was  terrible  indeed;  but  on  such  a  night,  what 
must  not  the  conflagration  have  been,  fed  by  such  pabulum 
— as  Sir  Robert  himself  would  have  said — as  that  on  which 
it  glutted  its  fiery  and  consuming  appetite !  We  have  said 
that  the  offices  and  dwelling-house  ran  parallel  with  each 
other,  and  such  was  the  fact.  What  appeared  singular, 
and  not  without  the  possibility  of  some  dark  supernatural 
causes,  according  to  the  impressions  of  the  people,  was, 
that  the  wind,  on  the  night  in  question,  started,  as  it  were, 
along  with  the  fire;  but  the  truth  is,  it  had  been  gamboling 
in  its  gigantic  play  before  the  fire  commenced  at  all.  In 
the  meantime,  as  we  said,  the  whole  premises  presented 
one  fiery  mass  of  red  and  waving  flames,  that  shot  and 
drifted  up,  from  time  to  time,  towards  the  sky,  with  the 
rapidity,  and  more  than  the  terror,  of  the  aurora  boi'ealis.. 
As  the  conflagration  proceeded,  the  high  flames  that  arose 
from   the   mansion,  and   those   that  leaped  up  from   the 


WILLY  REILLY.  117 

offices,  several  times  met  across  the  yard,  and  mingled,  as 
if  to  exult  in  their  fearful  task  of  destruction,  forming  a 
long  and  distinct  arch  of  flame,  so  exact  and  regular,  that 
it  seemed  to  proceed  from  the  skill  and  effort  of  some 
powerful  demon,  who  had  made  it  as  it  were  a  fiery  arbour 
for  his  kind.  The  whole  country  was  visible  to  an  astonish- 
ing distance,  and  over-head,  the  evening  sky  into  which 
the  uprushing  pyramids  seemed  to  pass,  looked  as  if  it  had 
caught  the  conflagration,  and  was  one  red  mass  of  glowing 
and  burning  copper.  Around  the  house  and  premises,  the 
eye  could  distinguish  a  pin ;  but  the  strong  light  was  so 
fearfully  red,  that  the  deep  tinge  it  communicated  to  the 
^earth  seemed  like  blood,  and  made  it  appear  as  if  it  had 
been  sprinkled  with  it. 

It  is  impossible  to  look  upon  a  large  and  extensive  con- 
flagration without  feeling  the  mind  filled  with  imagery  and 
comparisons,  drawn  from  moral  and  actual  life.  Here,  for 
instance,  is  a  tyrant,  in  the  unrestrained  exercise  of  his 
power — he  now  has  his  enemy  in  his  grip,  and  hear  how  he 
-exults ;  listen  to  the  mirthful  and  crackling  laughter  with 
which  the  fiendish  despot  rejoices,  as  he  gains  the  victory ; 
mark  the  diabolical  gambols  with  which  he  sports,  and  the 
demon  glee  with  which  he  performs  his  capricious  but 
frightful  exultations.  But  the  tyrant,  after  all,  will  become 
exhausted — his  strength  and  power  will  fail  him ;  he  will 
destroy  his  own  subjects ;  he  will  become  feeble,  and  when 
he  has  nothing  further  on  which  to  exercise  his  power,  he 
will,  like  many  another  tyrant  before  him,  sink,  and  be 
lost  in  the  ruin  he  has  made. 

Again :  would  you  behold  Industry  ?  Here  have  its 
•terrible  spirits  been  appointed  their  tasks.  Observe  the 
energy,  the  activity,  the  persevering  fury  with  which  they 
discharge  their  separate  duties.  See  how  that  eldest  son 
.of  Apollyon,  with  the  appetite  of  hell,  licks  into  his  burning 
maw  everything  that  comes  in  contact  with  his  tongue  of 
rire. — What  quickness  of  execution,  and  how  rapidly  they 
pass  from  place  to  place ;  how  they  run  about  in  quest  of 
employment;  how  diligently  and  effectually  they  search 
^very  nook  and  corner,  lest  anything  might  escape  them  1 
Mark  the  activity  with  which  that  strong  fellow  leaps 
across,  from  beam  to  beam,  seizing  upon  each  as  he  goes. 


118  WILLY   REILLY. 

A  different  task  has  been  assigned  to  another:  he  attacks 
the  rafters  of  the  roof — he  fails  at  first,  but,  like  the  con- 
strictor, he  first  licks  over  his  victim  before  he  destroys  it 
— bravo  ! — he  is  at  it  again — it  gives  way — he  is  upon  it, 
and  about  it;  and  now  his  difficulties  are  over — the  red 
wood  glows,  splits  and  crackles,  and  flies  off  in  angry 
flakes,  in  order  to  become  a  minister  to  its  active  and  de- 
vouring master.  See!  observe!  "What  business — what  a 
coil  and  turmoil  of  industry  !  Every  flame  at  work — no  idle 
hand  here — no  lazy  lounger  reposing.  No,  no — the  in- 
dustry of  a  hive  of  bees  is  nothing  to  this.  Eunning  up — 
running  down — running  in  all  directions  :  now  they  unite 
together  to  accomplish  some  general  task,  and  again  dis- 
perse themselves  to  perform  their  individual  appointments. 

But  hark !  what  comes  here  1  Room  for  auother  ele- 
ment :  'Tis  the  wind-storm,  that  comes  to  partake  in  the 
triumph  of  the  victory  which  his  ministers  have  assisted  to 
gain.  But  lo !  here  he  comes  in  person ;  and  now  they 
unite — or  how  1 — Do  they  oppose  each  other  1  Here  does 
the  wind-storm  drive  back  the  god  of  fire  from  his  victim ; 
again  the  fiery  god  attempts  to  reach  it ;  and  again  he  feels 
that  he  has  met  more  than  his  match.  Once,  twice,  thrice 
he  has  failed  in  getting  at  it.  But  is  this  conflict  real— 
this  fierce  battle  between  the  elements  1  Alas  !  no ;  they 
are  both  tyrants,  and  what  is  to  be  expected  ] 

The  wind  god,  always  unsteady,  wheels  round,  comes  to 
the  assistance  of  his  opponent,  and  gives  him  new  courage, 
new  vigour,  and  new  strength.  But  his  inferior  ministers 
must  have  a  share  of  this  dreadful  repast.  Off  go  a 
thousand  masses  of  burning  material,  whirling  along.  Off 
go  the  glowing  timbers  and  rafters,  on  the  wind,  by  which 
they  are  borne  in  thousands  of  red  meteors  across  the  sky. 
But  hark,  again !  Room  for  the  whirlwind !  Here  it 
comes,  and  addresses  itself  to  yon  tall  and  waving  pyramid; 
they  embrace ;  the  pyramid  is  twisted  into  the  figure  of  a 
gigantic  cork-screw — round  they  go,  rapid  as  thought ;  the 
thunder  of  the  wind  supplies  them  with  the  appropriate 
music,  and  continues  until  this  terrible  and  gigantic  waltz 
of  the  elements  is  concluded.  But  now  these  fearful  rava- 
gers  are  satisfied,  because  they  have  nothing  more  on  which 
they  can   glut   themselves.     They  appear,  however,  to  be 


WILLY  REILLY.  119 

sated.  The  wind  has  become  low,  and  is  only  able  to  work 
up  a  feeble  effort  at  its  former  strength.  The  flames,  too, 
are  subsiding — their  power  is  gone ;  occasional  jets  of  fire 
come  forth,  but  they  instantly  disappear.  By  degrees,  and 
one  after  another,  they  vanish.  Nothing  now  is  visible 
but  smoke,  and  everything  is  considered  as  over— when  lo ! 
like  a  great  general,  who  has  achieved  a  triumphant 
victory,  it  is  deemed  right  to  take  a  last  look  at  the 
position  of  the  enemy.  Up,  therefore,  starts  an  unexpected 
burst  of  flame — blazes  for  a  while ;  looks  about  it,  as  it 
were;  sees  that  the  victory  is  complete,  and  drops  down 
into  the  darkness  from  which  it  came.  The  conflagration 
is  over;  the  wind  storm  is  also  appeased.  Small  hollow 
gusts,  amongst  the  trees  and  elsewhere,  are  now  all  that 
are  heard.  By  degrees,  even  these  cease ;  and  the  wind  is 
now  such  as  it  was  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  when  the 
elements  were  comparatively  quiet  and  still. 

Mr.  Brown  and  his  friend,  Mr.  Hastings,  having  waited 
until  they  saw  the  last  rafter  of  unfortunate  Reilly's  house 
and  premises  sink  into  a  black  mass  of  smoking  ruins, 
turned  their  steps  to  the  Parsonage,  which  they  had  no 
sooner  entered  than  they  went  immediately  to  Reilly's 
room,  who  was  still  there  under  concealment.  Mr.  Brown, 
however,  went  out  again  and  returned  with  some  wine, 
which  he  placed  upon  the  table. 

"Gentlemen/'  said  Reilly,  "this  has  become  an  awful 
night ;  the  wind  has  been  tremendous,  and  has  done  a 
good  deal  of  damage,  I  fear,  to  your  house  and  premises, 
Mr.  Brown.  I  heard  the  slates  falling  about  in  great 
numbers ;  and  the  inmates  of  the  house  were,  as  far  as  I 
could  judge,  exceedingly  alarmed." 

"  It  was  a  dreadful  night  in  more  senses  than  one,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Brown. 

"  By-the-by,"  said  Reilly,  "  was  there  not  a  fire  some- 
where in  the  neighbourhood?  I  observed  through  the 
windows  a  strong  light  flickering  and  vibrating,  as  it  were, 
over  the  whole  country.     What  must  it  have  been  ? 

"  My  dear  Reilly,"  replied  Mr.  Brown,  "be  calm;  your 
house  and  premises  are,  at  this  moment,  one  dark  heap  of 
smouldering  ruins  " 


120  WILLY   REILLY. 

"Oh,  yes— I  understand,"  replied  Rsilly— "Sir  Roborfc 
Whitecraft," 

"  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,"  replied  Mr.  Brown  ;  "  it  is  too 
true,  Reilly — you  are  now  houseless  and  homeless ;  and 
may  God  forgive  him!" 

Reilly  got  up  and  paced  the  room  several  times — then 
sat  down — and  filling  himself  a  glass  of  wine,  drank  it  off; 
then  looking  at  each  of  them,  said — in  a  voice  rendered 
hoarse  by  the  indignation  and  resentment  which  he  felt 
himself  compelled,  out  of  respect  for  his  kind  friends,  to 
restrain:  "  Gentlemen,"  he  repeated,  "  what  do  you  cali  this  V 

"  Malice — persecution — vengeance,"  replied  Mr.  Brown, 
whose  resentment  was  scarcely  less  than  that  of  Reilly 
himself.  "  In  the  presence  of  God,  and  before  all  the 
world,  I  would  pronounce  it  one  of  the  most  diabolical  acts 
ever  committed  in  the  history  of  civil  societ}\  But  you 
have  one  consolation,  Reilly ;  your  money  and  papers  are 
safe." 

"  It  is  not  that,"  replied  Reilly  ;  "  I  think  not  of  them. 
It  is  the  vindictive  and  persecuting  spirit  of  that  man — that 
monster — and  the  personal  motives  from  which  he  acts, 
that  torture  me,  and  that  plant  in  my  heart  a  principle  of 
vengeance  more  fearful  still  than  his.  But  you  do  not 
understand  me,  gentlemen  ;  I  could  smile  at  all  he  has  done 
to  myself  yet.  It  is  of  the  serpent-tooth  which  will  destroy 
the  peace  of  others,  that  I  think.  All  these  motives  being 
considered,  what  do  you  think  that  man  deserves  at  my 
hand?" 

"  My  dear  Reilly,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  recollect  that 
there  is  a  Providence ;  and  that  we  cannot  assume  to  our- 
selves the  disposition  of  His  judgments,  or  the  knowledge 
of  His  wisdom.  Have  patience.  Your  situation  is  one  of 
great  distress  and  almost  unexampled  difficulty.  At  all 
events,  you  are,  for  the  present,  safe  under  this  roof ;  and 
although  I  grant  you  have  much  to  suffer,  still  you  have  a 
free  conscience,  and,  I  dare  say,  would  not  exchange  your 
position  for  that  of  your  persecutor." 

"  No,"  said  Reilly  ;  "most  assuredly  not — most  assuredly, 
not ;  no,  not  for  worlds.     Yet  is  it  not  strange,  gentlemen.' 
that  that  man  will  sleep  sound  and  happily  to-night,  whilst 
I  will  lie  upon  a  bed  of  thorns  V 


WILLY   REILLY.  12i 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Brown  tapped  gently  at  the  door, 
which  was  cautiously  opened  by  her  husband. 

"  John,"  said  she,  "  here  is  a  note  which  I  was  desired  to 
give  to  you  without  a  moment's  delay." 

"  Thank  you,  my  love  ;  I  will  read  it  instantly." 

He  then  bolted  the  door,  and  coming  to  the  table  took 
np  one  of  the  candles  and  read  the  letter,  which  he  handed 
to  Mr.  Hastings,  Now,  we  have  already  stated  that 
this  gentleman,  whilst  looking  on  at  the  destruction  of 
Reilly's  property,  never  once  opened  his  lips.  Neither  did 
he,  from  the  moment  they  entered  Reilly's  room.  He  sat 
like  a  dumb  man,  occasionally  helping  himself  to  a  glass  of 
wine.  After  having  perused  the  note  he  merely  nodded, 
but  said  not  a  word  ;  he  seemed  to  have  lost  the  faculty  of 
speech.     At  length  Mr.  Brown  spoke  : 

"  This  is  really  too  bad,  my  dear  Reilly  ;  here  is  a  note 
signed  '  H.  F.,'  which  informs  me  that  your  residency 
concealment,  or  whatever  it  is,  has  been  discovered  by  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft,  and  that  the  military  are  on  their  way 
here  to  arrest  you  ;  you  must  instantly  fly." 

Hastings  then  got  up,  and  taking  Reilly's  hand,  said: 

"  Yes,  Reilly,  you  must  escape — disguise  yourself — take 
all  shapes — since  you  will  not  leave  the  country  ;  but  there- 
is  one  fact  I  wish  to  impress  upon  you :  meddle  not  with — 
injure  not— Sir  Robert  Whitecraft.     Leave  him  to  me."     ■ 

"Go  oat  by  the  back  way."  said  Mr.  Brown,  "and  II y 
into  the  fields,  lest  they  should  surround  the  house  and 
render  escape  impossible.  God  bless  you  and  preserve  you 
from  the  violence  of  your  enemies." 

It  is  unnecessary  to  relate  what  subsequently  occurred. 
Mr.  Brown's  premises,  as  he  had  anticipated,  were  com- 
pletely surrounded,  ere  the  party  in  search  of  Reilly  had 
demanded  admittance.  The  whole  house  was  searched  from 
top  to  bottom,  bat,  as  usual,  without  success.  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft  himself  was  not  with  them,  but  the  party  were 
all  but  intoxicated,  and,  were  it  not  for  the  calm  and 
unshrinking  firmness  of  Mr.  Brown,  would  have  been  guilt}1- 
of  a  very  offensive  degree  of  insolence. 

Reilly,  in  the  meantime,  did  not  pass  far  from  the  house. 
On  the  contrary,  he  resolved  to  watch  from  a  safe  place  tha 
motions  of  those  who  were  in  pursuit  of  him.     In  order  to 


122  WILLY  REILLY. 

do  this  more  securely,  he  mounted  into  the  branches  of  a 
magnificent  oak  tree,  that  stood  iu  the  centre  of  a  field, 
adjoining  a  kind  of  back  lawn  that  stretched  from  the 
walled  garden  of  the  Parsonage.  The  fact  is,  that  the 
clergyman's  house  had  two  hall-doors — one  in  front,  and  the 
other  in  the  rear;  and  as  the  rooms  commanded  a  view  of 
the  scenery  behind  the  house,  which  was  much  finer  than 
that  in  front,  on  this  account  the  back  hall-door  was 
necessary,  as  it  gave  them  a  free  and  easy  egress  to  the 
lawn  we  have  mentioned,  from  which  a  magnificent  pros- 
pect was  visible. 

It  was  obvious  that  the  party,  though  unsuccessful,  had 
been  very  accurately  informed.  Finding,  however,  that 
the  bird  had  flown,  several  of  them  gallopped  across  the 
lawn — it  was  a  cavalry  party,  having  been  sent  out  for 
speed — and  passed  into  the  field  where  the  tree  grew  in 
which  Eeilly  was  concealed.  After  a  useless  search,  how- 
ever, they  returned,  and  pulled  up  their  horses  under  the 
oak. 

"  Well,"  said  one  of  them,  "  it's  a  clear  case  that  the 
scoundrel  can  make  himself  invisible.  We  have  orders 
from  Sir  Eoberb  to  shoot  him,  and  to  put  the  matter  upon 
the  principle  of  resistance  against  the  law,  on  his  side. 
Sir  Robert  has  been  most  credibly  informed  that  that  dis- 
loyal parson  has  concealed  him  in  his  house  for  nearly  the 
last  month.  Now,  who  could  ever  think  of  looking  for  a 
Popish  rebel  in  the  house  of  a  Protestant  parson  1  What 
the  deuce  is  keeping  those  fellows  ?  I  hope  they  won't  go 
too  far  into  the  country." 

"Any  man  that  says  Mr.  Brown  is  a  disloyal  parson,  is 
a  liar,,J  said  one  of  them,  in  a  stern  voice. 

"And  I  say,"  said  another,  with  a  hiccup,  "that,  hang 
me,  but  I  think  this  same  Eeilly  is  as  loyal  a  man  as  e'er 
a  one  amongst  us.  My  name  is  George  Johnston,  and  I'm 
nob  ashamed  of  it ;  and  the  truth  is,  that  only  Miss  Folliard 
fell  in  love  with  Eeilly,  and  refused  to  marry  Sir  E-obert, 
B..eilly  would  have  been  a  loyal  man  still,  and  no  ill-will 

against   him.     But  by ,  it  was   too  bad  to   burn   his 

house  and  place — and  see  whether  Sir  Eobert  will  come  off 
the  better  of  it.  I,  myself,  am  a  good  Protestant— show 
me  the  man  that  will  deny  that,  and  I'll  become  his  school- 


WILLY  REILLY.  123 

master  only  for  five  minutes.  I  do  say,  and  I'll  tell  it  to 
Sir  Robert's  face,  that  there's  something  wrong  somewhere. 
Give  me  a  Papish  that  breaks  the  law,  let  him  be  priest  or 
layman,  and  I'm  the  boy  that  will  take  a  grip  of  him  if  I 
can  get  him.  But,  confound  me,  if  I  like  to  be  sent  out  to 
hunt  innocent,  inoffensive  Papishes,  who  commit  no  crime, 
except  that  of  having  property  that  chaps  like  Sir  Robert 
have  their  eye  on.  Now,  suppose  the  Papishes  had  the 
upper  hand,  and  that  they  treated  us  so,  what  would  you 
say  t 

"  All  I  can  say  is,"  replied  another  of  them,  "  that  I'd 
wish  to  get  the  reward." 

"  Curse  the  reward,"  said  Johnston,  "  I  like  fair  play." 

"But  how  did  Sir  Robert  come  to  know,"  asked  another, 
"  that  Reilly  was  with  the  parson  V 

"  Who  the  deuce  here  can  tell  that  ]"  replied  several. 

"  The  thing  was  a  hoax,"  said  Johnston,  "  and  a  cursed 
uncomfortable  one  for  us.  But  here  come  these  fellows, 
just  as  they  went,  it  seems.  Well,  boys,  no  trail  of  this 
running  fox  ?" 

"  Trail  1"  exclaimed  the  others.  "  Gad,  you  might  as 
well  hunt  for  your  grandmother's  needle  in  a  bottle  of 
straw.  The  truth  is,  the  man's  not  in  the  country,  and 
whoever  gave  the  information  as  to  the  parson  keeping  him 
was  some  enemy  of  the  parson's  more  than  of  Reilly's  I'll 
go  bail.  Come,  now,  let  us  go  back,  and  give  an  account 
of  our  luck,  and  then  to  our  barracks." 

Now,  at  this  period  it  was  usual  for  men  who  were  pro- 
minent for  rank  and  loyalty,  and  whose  attachment  to  the 
Constitution  and  Government  was  indicated  by  such  acts 
and  principles  as  those  which  we  have  hitherto  read  in  the 
life  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft — we  say,  it  was  usual  for 
such  as  him  to  be  allowed  a  small  detachment  of  military, 
whose  numbers  were  mostly  rated,  according  to  the  services 
required  of  them,  by  the  zeal  and  activity  of  their 
employer,  as  well  as  for  his  protection ;  and,  in  order  to 
their  accommodation,  some  uninhabited  house  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood was  converted  into  a  barrack  for  the  purpose. 
Such  was  the  case  in  the  instance  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft, 
who,  independently  of  his  zeal  for  the  public  good,  was 
supposed  to  have  an  eye  in  this  disposition  of  things,  to  his 


124  :VILLY  REILLY. 

own  personal  safety.  He,  consequently,  had  his  little 
barrack  so  closely  adjoining  his  house,  that  a  notice  of  five 
minutes  could  at  any  time  have  its  inmates  at  his  pre- 
mises, or  in  his  presence. 

After  these  men  went  away,  Keilly,  having  waited  a  few 
minutes,  until  he  was  satisfied  that  they  had  actually,  one 
and  all  of  them,  disappeared,  came  down  from  the  tree, 
and,  once  more  betook  himself  to  the  road.  Whither  to 
go,  he  knew  not.  In  consequence  of  having  received  his 
education  abroad,  his  personal  knowledge  of  the  inhabitants 
belonging  to  the  neighbourhood  was  very  limited.  Go 
somewhere,  however,  he  must.  Accordingly,  he  resolved 
to  advance,  at  all  events,  as  far  as  he  might  be  able  to 
travel  before  bed-time,  and  then  resign  himself  to  chance 
for  a  night's  shelter.  One  might  imagine,  indeed,  that  his 
position  as  a  wealthy  Roman  Catholic  gentleman,  suffering 
persecution  from  the  tool  and  scourge  of  a  hostile  Govern- 
ment, might  have  calculated  upon  shelter  and  secrecy  from 
those  belonging  to  his  own  creed.  And  so,  indeed,  in 
nineteen  cases  out  of  twenty,  he  might ;  but  in  what  pre- 
dicament should  he  find  himself,  if  the  twentieth  proved 
treacherous?  And  against  this  he  had  no  guarantee.  That 
age  was  peculiarly  marked  by  the  foulest  personal  perfidy, 
precipitated  into  action  by  rapacity,  ingratitude,  and  the 
blackest  ambition.  The  son  of  a  Itoman  Catholic  gentle- 
man, for  instance,  had  nothing  more  to  do  than  change  his 
creed,  attach  himself  to  the  Government,  become  a  spy  and 
informer  on  his  family,  and  he  ousted  his  own  father,  at 
once,  out  of  his  hereditary  property — an  ungrateful  and 
heinous  proceeding,  that  was  too  common  in  the  times  of 
which  we  write.  Then,  as  to  the  people  themselves,  they 
were,  in  general,  steeped  in  poverty  and  ignorance,  and  this 
i3  certainly  not  surprising,  when  we  consider  that  no  man 
durst  educate  them.  The  Government  rewards,  therefore, 
assailed  them  with  a  double  temptation.  In  the  first,  the 
amount  of  it — taking  their  poverty  into  consideration — 
was  calculated  to  grapple  with  and  overcome  their  scruples; 
and  in  the  next,  they  were  certain  by  their  treachery  to 
secure  the  protection  of  Government  for  themselves. 

Such,  exactly,  was  the  state  of  the  country  on  the  night 
when  Keilly  found  himself  a  solitary  traveller  on  the  road ; 


WILLY  REILLY.  125 

ignorant  of  his  destiny,  and  uncertain  where  or  in  what 
quarter  he  might  seek  shelter  until  morning. 

He  had  not  gone  far  when  he  overtook  another  traveller,, 
with  whom  he  entered  into  conversation. 

"  God  save  you,  my  friend." 

"God  save  you  kindly,  sir,"  replied  the  other;  "was 
not  this  an  awful  night  V 

"  If  you  may  say  so,"  returned  Reilly,  unconsciously,  and 
for  the  moment  forgetting  himself,  "well  may  I,  my  friend." 

Indeed  it  is  probable  that  Reilly  was  thrown  somewhat 
off  his  guard  by  the  accent  of  his  companion,  from  which 
he  at  once  inferred  that  he  was  a  Catholic. 

11  AVhy,  sir,"  replied  the  man,  "  how  could  it  be  more- 
awful  to  you  than  to  any  other  man?" 

"  Suppose  my  house  was  blown  down,"  said  R-iilly,  "  and 
that  yours  was  not,  would  not  that  be  cause  sufficient  ?" 

"My  house !"  exclaimed  the  man  with  a  deep  sigh ;  "  but 
sure  you  ought  to  know,  sir,  that  it's  not  every  man  has  a 
house." 

"And,  perhaps,  I  do  know  it." 

"Wasn't  that  a  terrible  act,  sir,  the  burning  of  Mr<. 
Reilly's  house  and  place?" 

"  Who  is  Mr.  Reilly  V\  asked  the  other. 

"  A  Catholic  gintleman,  sir,  that  the  soldiers  are  aJbher;* 
replied  the  man. 

"And  perhaps  it  is  right  that  they  should  be  after  him^ 
What  did  he  do  ?  The  Catholics  are  too  much  in  the  habit 
of  violating  the  law,  especially  their  priests,  who  persist  ivk 
marrying  Protestants  and  Papists  together,  although  they 
know  it  is  a  hanging  matter.  If  they  deliberately  put 
their  necks  into  the  noose,  who  can  pity  them  %" 

"It  seems  they  do,  then,"  replied  the  man,  in  a  subdued 
voice;  "and  what  is  still  more  strange,  it  very  often  happens 
that  persons  of  their  own  creed  are  somewhat  too  ready  to 
come  down  wid  a  harsh  word  upon  'em." 

"Well,  my  friend,"  responded  Rsilly,  "let  them  not 
deserve  it ;  let  them  obey  the  law." 

"  And  are  you  of  opinion,  sir,"  asked  the  man  with  a 
significant  emphasis  upon  the  personal  pronoun,  which  we- 
have  put  in  italics  ;  "  are  you  of  opinion,  sir,  that  obedience 
to  the  law  is  alwiys  a  security  to  either  .person  or  property  V* 


126  WILLY   REILLY. 

The  direct  force  of  the  question  could  not  be  easily 
parried,  at  least  by  Reilly,  to  whose  circumstances  it  applied 
so  powerfully,  and  he  consequently  paused  for  a  little  to 
shape  his  thoughts  into  the  language  he  wished  to  adopt. 
The  man,  however,  proceeded  : 

"  I  wonder  what  Mr.  Reilly  would  say  if  such  a  question 
was  put  to  him?" 

"  I  suppose,"  replied  Rsilly,  "  he  would  say  much  as  I 
say — that  neither  innocence  nor  obedience  is  always  a 
security  under  any  law  or  any  constitution  either." 

His  companion  made  no  reply,  and  they  walked  on  for 
some  time  in  silence.  Such,  indeed,  was  the  precarious 
state  of  the  country  then,  that  although  the  stranger,  from 
the  opening  words  of  their  conversation,  suspected  his 
companion  to  be  no  other  than  Willy  Reilly  himself ;  yet 
he  hesitated  to  avow  the  suspicions  he  entertained  of  his 
identity,  although  he  felt  anxious  to  repose  the  fullest  con- 
fidence in  him;  and  Railly,  on  the  other  hand,  though 
perfectly  aware  of  the  true  character  of  his  companion,  was 
influenced  in  their  conversation  by  a  similar  feeling.  Dis- 
trust it  could  not  be  termed  on  either  side,  but  simply  the 
operation  of  that  general  caution  which  was  generated  by 
the  state  of  the  times,  when  it  was  extremely  difficult  to 
know  the  individual  on  whom  you  could  place  dependence. 
Eeilly's  generous  nature,  however,  could  bear  this  miserable 
manoeuvring  no  longer. 

"Come,  my  friend,"  said  he,  "we  have  been  beating 
about  the  bush  with  each  other  to  no  purpose  ;  although  I 
know  not  your  name,  yet  I  think  I  do  your  profession." 

"And  I  would  hold  a  wager,"  replied  the  other,  "that 
Mr.  Reilly,  whose  house  was  burned  down  by  a  villain  this 
night,  is  not  a  thousand  miles  from  me." 

"  And  suppose  you  are  right  V 

"Then,  upon  my  veracity  you're  safe,  if  I  am.  It  would 
ill  become  my  cloth  and  character  to  act  dishonourably  or 
contrary  to  the  spirit  of  my  religion. 

.  '  Non  ignara  mali  miseris  succurrere  disco.' 

Yes  see,  Mr.  Reilly,  I  couldn't  make  use  of  any  other 
gender  but  the  feminine,  without  violating  prosody ;  for 
although  I'm  not  so  sharp  at  my  Latin  as  I  was,  still  I 


WILLY  EEILLY.  127 

couldn't  use  ignams,  as  you  see,  without  fairly  committing 
myself  as  a  scholar ;  and  indeed,  if  I  went  to  that,  it  would 
surely  be  the  first  time  I  have  been  mistaken  for  a  dunce." 

The  honest  priest,  now  that  the  ice  was  broken,  and  con- 
scious that  he  was  in  safe  hands,  fell  at  once  into  his  easy 
and  natural  manner,  and  rattled  away  very  much  to  the 
amusement  of  his  companion.  "Ah !"  he  proceeded,  "many 
a  character  I  have  been  forced  to  assume." 

"How  is  that?"  inquired  Eeilly.  "How  did  it  happen 
that  you  were  forced  into  such  a  variety  of  characters  V 

"Why,  you  see,  Mr.  Eeilly — troth  and  maybe  I  had 
better  not  be  naming  you  aloud ;  walls  have  ears,  and  so 
may  hedges.  How,  you  ask?  Why,  you' see,  I'm  not 
registered,  and  consequently  have  no  permission  from 
Government  to  exercise  my  functions." 

"Why,"  said  Eeilly,  "you  labour  under  a  mistake,  my 
friend:  the  bill  for  registering  Catholic  priests  did  not  pass; 
it  was  lost  by  a  majority  of  two.  So  far  make  your  mind 
easy.  The  consequence  is,  that  if  you  labour  under  no 
ecclesiastical  censure  you  may  exercise  all  the  functions  of 
your  office — that  is,  as  well  as  you  can,  and  as  far  as  vou 
dare." 

"  Well,  that  same's  a  comfort,"  said  the  priest ;  "  but  the 
report  was,  and  is,  that  we  are  to  be  registered.  However, 
be  that  as  it  may,  I  have  been  a  perfect  Proteus.  The 
metamorphoses  of  Ovid  were  nothing  to  mine.  I  have 
represented  every  character  in  society  at  large ;  to-day  I've 
been  a  farmer,  and  to-morrow,  a  poor  man,*  sometimes  ka 
fool — a  rare  character,  you  know,  in  this  world — and  some- 
times a  fiddler  ;  for  I  play  a  little." 

"And  which  character  did  you  prefer,  among  them  all?" 
asked  Eeilly,  with  a  smile  which  he  could  not  repress. 

"  Oh,  in  troth,  you  needn't  ask  that,  Mr.  E hem — 

you  needn't  ask  that.  The  first  morning  I  took  to  the 
fiddle,  I  was  about  to  give  myself  up  to  the  Government, 
at  once.  As  for  my  part,  I'd  be  ashamed  to  tell  you 
how  I  sent  those  that  were  unlucky  enough  to  hear  my 
mushkscampering  across  the  country." 

"An<5  pray,  how  long  is  that  since?" 

*  A  mendicant. 


123  WILLY   ItEILLY. 

"  Why,  something  better  than  three  weeks,  the  Lord 
pity  me  I" 

"  And  what  description  of  dress  did  you  wear  on  that 
occasion  V  asked  Reilly. 

"Dress — why,  then,  an  old  yellow  caubeen,  a  blue  frieze 
coat,  and — movrone  oh! — a  striped  breeches  And  the 
worst  of  it  was,  that  big  Paddy  Mullin,  from  Mullaghmore, 
having  met  me  in  old  Darby  Doyle's,  poor  man,  where  I 
went  to  take  a  little  refreshment,  ordered  in  something  to 
eat,  and  began  to  make  me  play  for  him.  Tnere  was  a 
Protestant  in  the  house,  too,  so  that  I  couldn't  tell  him 
who  I  was,  and  I  accordingly  began,  and  soon  cleared  the 
house  of  them.  God  bless  you,  sir,  you  could  little  dream 
of  all  I  went  through.  I  was  one  day  set  in  the  house  I 
was  concealed  in,  in  the  town  of  Ballyrogan,  and  only  for 
the  town  fool,  Art  M  Kenna,  I  suppose  I'd  have  swung 
before  this." 

"  How  was  that!"  asked  Eeilly. 

"  Why,  sir,  one  day,  I  got  the  hard  word,  that  they 
would  be  into  the  house  where  I  was,  in  a  few  minutes. 
To  escape  them  in  my  own  dress,  I  knew  was  impossible; 
and  what  was  to  be  done?  The  poor  fool,  who  was  as  true 
as  steel,  came  to  my  relief.  '  Here,'  said  he,  '  exchange 
wid  me.  I'll  put  on  your  black  clothes,  and  you'll  put  on 
my  red  ones' — he  .was  dressed  like  an  old  soldier — '  then 
I'll  take  to  my  scrapers,  and  while  they  are  in  pursuit  of 
me,  you  can  escape  to  some  friend's  house,  where  you  may 
get  another  dress.  God  knows,'  said  he,  with  a  grin  on 
him  I  didn't  like,  '  it's  a  poor  exchange  on  my  part.  You 
can  play  the  fool,  and  cock  your  cap,  without  any  one  to- 
ask  you  for  authority,'  says  he ;  '  and  if  I  only  marry  a 
wrong  couple,  I  may  be  hanged.  Go  off  now."  Well,  sir, 
out  I  walked,  dressed  in  a  red  coat,  military  hat,  white 
knee-breeches,  and  black  leggings.  As  I  was  going  out  I 
met  the  soldiers.  '  Is  the  priest  inside,  Art  V  they  asked* 
I  pointed  in  a  wrong  direction.  'Up  by  Kilclayl'  I 
nodded.  They  first  searched  the  house,  however,  but 
found  neither  priest  nor  fool ;  only  one  of  them,  something 
sharper  than  the  rest,  went  out  of  the  back  door,  and  saw 
unfortunate  Art,  dressed  in  black,  running  for  the  bare  life. 
Of  course   they   thought  it  was  me   they   had.     03*  they 


WILLY  REILLY.  129 

started ;  and  a  tolerable  chase  Art  put  them  to.  At  last 
he  was  caught,  after  a  run  across  the  country,  of  about  four 
miles;  but  ne'er  a  word  came  out  of  his  lips,  till  a  keen 
fellow,  on  looking  closely  at  him,  discovered  the  mistake. 
Some  of  them  were  then  going  to  kill  the  poor  fool,  but 
others  interfered  and  wouldn't  allow  him  to  be  touched ; 
and  many  of  them  laughed  heartily,  when  they  saw  Art 
turned  into  a  clergyman,  as  they  said.  Art,  however,  was 
no  coward,  and  threatened  to  read  every  man  of  them  out 
from  the  altar.  '  I'll  exkimnicate  every  mother's  son  of 
you/  said  he.  '  I'm  a  reverend  clargy ;  and  by  the  con- 
tents of  my  soger's  cap,  I'll  close  the  mouths  on  your 
faces,  so  that  a  blessed  pratie  or  a  boult  of  fat  bacon  will 
never  go  down  one  of  your  villanous  throats  again ;  and 
then,'  he  added,  '  I'll  sell  you  for  scarecrows  to  the  Pope  o' 
Room,  who  wants  a  dozen  or  two  of  you  to  sweep  out  his 
palace.'  It  was  then,  sir,  that  while  I  was  getting  out  of 
my  red  clothes,  I  was  transformed  again ;  but  indeed,  the 
most  of  us  are  so  now,  God  help  us  !" 

They  had  now  arrived  at  a  narrow  part  of  the  road, 
when  the  priest  stood. 

"  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  he,  "  I  am  very  tired ;  but,  as  it  is, 
we  must  go  on  a  couple  of  miles  farther,  until  we  reach 
Glen  Dhu,  where  I  think  I  can  promise  you  a  night's 
lodging,  such  as  it  will  be." 

"  I  am  easily  satisfied,"  replied  his  companion ;  "  it 
would  be  a  soft  bed  that  would  win  me  to  repose,  on  this 
night,  at  least." 

"  It  will  certainly  be  a  rude  and  a  rough  one,"  said  the 
priest,  "  and  there  will  be  few  hearts  there  free  from  care, 
no  more  than  yours,  Mr.  Reilly.  Alas !  that  I  should  be 
obliged  to  say  so  in  a  Christian  country." 

"  You  say  you  are  fatigued,"  said  Reilly ;  "take  my  arm, 
I  am  strong  enough  to  yield  you  some  support." 

The  priest  did  so,  and  they  proceeded  at  a  slower  pace, 
until  they  got  over  the  next  two  miles,  when  the  priest 
stopped  again. 

"  1  must  rest  a  little,"  said  he,  "  although  we  are  now 
within  a  hundred  yards  of  our  berth  for  the  night.  Do 
you  know  where  you  are  V 

"  Perfectly,"  replied  Reilly ;    "  but  good  mercy !   sure 

x 


130  WILLY   REILLY. 

there  is  neither  house  nor  home  within  two  miles  of  us. 
We  are  in  the  moors,  at  the  very  mouth  of  (xlen  Dhu." 

"  Yes,"  replied  his  companion,  "  and  I  am  glad  we  are 
here." 

The  poor  hunted  priest  felt  himself,  indeed,  very  much 
exhausted,  so  much  so,  that  if  the  termination  of  his 
journey  had  been  at  a  much  longer  distance  from  thence, 
he  would  scarcely  have  been  able  to  reach  it. 

"God  help  our  unhappy  Church,"  said  he,  "for  she  is 
suffering  much ;  but  still  she  is  suffering  nobly,  and  with 
such  Christian  fortitude  as  will  make  her  days  of  trial  and 
endurance  the  brightest  in  her  annals.  All  that  power  and 
persecution  can  direct  against  us  is  put  in  force  a  thousand 
ways ;  but  we  act  under  the  consciousness  that  we  have 
God  and  truth  on  our  side,  and  this  gives  us  strength  and 
courage  to  suffer.  And  if  we  fly,  Mr.  Reilly,  and  hide  our- 
selves, it  is  not  from  any  moral  cowardice  we  do  so.  It 
certainly  is  not  true  courage  to  expose  our  lives  wantonly 
and  unnecessarily  to  the  vengeance  of  our  enemies.  Read 
the  Old  Testament  and  history,  and  you  will  find  how 
many  good  and  pious  men  have  sought  shelter  in  wilder- 
nesses and  caves,  as  we  have  done.  The  truth  is,  we  feel 
ourselves  called  upon,  for  the  sake  of  our  suffering  and 
neglected  flocks,  to  remain  in  the  country,  and  to  afford 
them  all  the  consolation  and  religious  support  in  our  power, 
God  help  them." 

"I  admire  the  justness  of  your  sentiments,"  replied 
Eeilly,  "and  the  spirit  in  which  they  are  expressed.  In- 
deed, I  am  of  opinion  that  if  those  who  foster  and  stimulate 
this  detestable  spirit  of  persecution  against  you,  only  knew 
how  certainly  and  surely  it  defeats  their  purpose,  by 
cementing  your  hearts  and  the  hearts  of  your  flocks  to- 
gether, they  would  not,  from  principles  even  of  worldly 
policy,  persist  in  it.  The  man  who  attempted  to  break 
down  the  arch  by  heaping  additional  weight  upon  it,  ulti- 
mately found  that  the  greater  the  weight  the  stronger  the 
arch,  and  so  I  trust  it  will  be  with  us." 

"It  would  seem,"  said  the  priest,  "to  be  an  attempt  to 
exterminate  the  religion  of  the  people,  by  depriving  them 
©f  their  pastors,  and  consequently  of  their  Church,  in  order 
to  bring  them  to  the  impression,  that  upon  the  principle 


WILLY  REILLY.  131 

of  any  Church  being  better  than  no  Church,  they  may 
gradually  be  absorbed  into  Protestantism.  This  seems  to 
be  their  policy;  but  how  can  any  policy,  based  upon  such 
persecution,  and  so  grossly  at  variance  with  human  liberty, 
ever  succeed  1  As  it  is,  we  go  out  in  the  dead  hours  of  the 
night,  when  even  persecution  is  asleep,  and  administer  the 
consolations  of  religion  to  the  sick,  the  dying,  and  the 
destitute.  Now,  these  stolen  visits  are  sweeter,  perhaps, 
and  more  efficacious,  than  if  they  took  place  in  freedom 
and  the  open  day.  Again,  we  educate  their  children  in 
the  principles  of  their  creed,  during  the  same  lonely  hours, 
in  waste  houses,  where  we  are  obliged  to  keep  the  windows 
stuffed  with  straw,  or  covered  with  blinds  of  some  sort, 
lest  a  chance  of  discovery  might  ensue.  Such  is  the  life 
we  lead ;  a  life  of  want,  and  misery,  and  suffering ;  but  we 
complain  not ;  on  the  contrary,  we  submit  ourselves  to  the 
will  of  God,  and  receive  this  severe  visitation  as  a  chastise- 
ment intended  for  our  good." 

The  necessities  of  our  narrative,  however,  compel  us  to 
leave  them  here,  for  the  present ;  but  not  without  a  hope 
that  they  found  shelter  for  the  night,  as  we  trust  we  shall 
be  able  to  show. 


* 


CHAPTER  IX. 

t 

REILLY'S  ADVENTURE,  CONTINUED— A  PROSPECT  OF*Y-GONE 
TIMES — REILLY  GETS  A  BED  IN  A  CURIOUS  ESTABLISHMENT. 

'E  now  beg  our  readers  to  accompany  us  to  the 
library  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  where  that 
worthy  gentleman  sits,  with  a  bottle  of  Madeira 
before  him ;  for  Sir  Robert,  in  addition  to  his  many  other 
good  qualities,  possessed  that  of  being  a  private  drinker. 
The  bottle,  we  say,  was  before  him,  and  with  a  smile  of 
triumph  and  satisfaction  on  his  face,  he  arose  and  rang  the 
bell.  In  a  few. minutes  a  liveried  servant  attended  it. 
a  Carson,  send  O'Donnel  here." 

Carson  bowed,  and  retired,  and  m  a  few  minutes  the  Red 
Rapparee  entered. 


132  WILLY   REILLY. 

"  How  is  this,  ODonnel  ?  Have  you  thrown  aside  your 
uniform  f 

"I  didn't  think  I'd  be  called  out  on  duty  again  to-night, 
sir." 

"  It  doesn't  matter,  O'Donnel — it  doesn't  matter.  What 
do  you  think  of  the  bonfire  V* 

"B*gad,  it  was  a  beauty,  sir,  and  well  managed." 

"Ay,  but  I  am  afraid,  O'Donuel,  I  went  a  little  too  fa-r 
— that  I  stretched  my  authority  somewhat." 

"Bit  isn't  he  a  rebel  and  an  outlaw,  Sir  Robert?  and  in 
that  case " 

"Yes,  O'Donnel;  and  a  rebel  and  an  outlaw  of  my  own 
making,  which  is  the  best  of  it.  Tne  fellow  might  have 
lain  there,  concocting  his  treason,  long  enough,  only  for  my 
vigilance.  However,  it's  all  right.  The  Government,  to 
which  I  have  rendered  such  important  services,  will  stand 
by  me,  and  fetch  me  out  of  the  burning — that  is,  if  there 
has  been  any  transgression  of  the  law  in  it.  Tne  Papists 
are  piivatnly  recruiting  for  the  French  service,  and  that  is 
felony;  Reilly  also  was  recruiting  for  the  French  service — 
was  lie  not  V 

"  He  offered  me  a  commission,  sir." 

"Very  good,  that's  all  right;  but  can  you  prove  that?" 

"Why,  1  can  swear  it,  Sir  Robert." 

"  Bjtter  still.  But  do  you  think  he  is  ia  the  country, 
O'Donnel?" 

"I  would  rather  swear  he  is,  sir,  than  that  he  is  not. 
He  won't  lave  her  aisily." 

"  Who  do  you  mean  by  her,  sir !" 

"I  would  rather  not  name  her,  your  honour,  in  con- 
nexion with  the  vagabone." 

"That's  delicate  of  you,  O'Donnel;  I  highly  approve  of 
your  sentiment.     Here,  have  a  glass  of  wine." 

"  Tnauk  you,  Sir  Robert ;  but  have  you  any  brandy,  sir  1 
My  tongue  is  as  dry  as  a  stick,  with  that  glorious  bonfire 
we  had ;  but,  besides,  sir,  I  wish  to  drink  success  to  you  in 
all  your  undertakings.  A  happy  marriage,  sir!"  and  he 
accompanied  the  words  with  a  ferocious  grin. 

"You  shall  have  one  glass  of  brandy,  O'Donnel,  but  no 
more.  I  wish  you  to  deliver  a  letter  for  me  to-night.  It 
is   to  the  sheriff,   who  dines  with  Lord ,  a  friend  oi* 


AYILLY  REILLY.  133 

mine,  and  I  wish  you  to  deliver  it  at  his  lordship's  house, 
where  you  will  be  sure  to  find  him.  The  letter  is  of  the 
greatest  importance,  and  you  will  take  care  to  deliver  it 
safely.  No  answer  by  you  is  required.  He  was  out  to- 
day, levying  fines  from  Popish  priests,  and  a  heavy  one 
from  the  Popish  bishop ;  and  I  do  not  think,  with  a  large 
sum  of  money  about  him,  that  he  will  go  home  to-night. 
Here  is  the  letter.  I  expect  he  will  call  on  me  in  the 
morning,  to  breakfast — at  least  I  have  asked  him,  for  we 
have  very  serious  business  to  discuss." 

The  Rapparee  took  the  letter,  finished  his  glass  of 
brandy,  and  disappeared,  to  fulfil  his  commission. 

Now,  it  so  happened,  that  on  that  very  evening,  before 
the  premises  had  been  set  on  fire,  Mary  Mabon,  by 
O'Donnel's  orders,  had  entered  the  house,  and  under,  as  it 
were,  the  protection  of  the  military,  gathered  up  as  much 
of  Reilly's  clothes  and  linen  as  she  could  conveniently  carry 
to  her  cottage,  which  was  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of 
Whitecraft's  residence — it  being  the  interest  of  this  hypo- 
critical voluptuary  to  have  the  corrupt  wretch  near  him. 
The  Rapparee,  having  left  Whitecraft  to  his  reflections, 
immediately  directed  his  steps  to  her  house,  and,  with  her 
connivance,  changed  the  dress  he  had  on  for  one  which  she 
had  taken  from  Reilly's  wardrobe.  He  then  went  to  the 
house  of  the  nobleman  where  the  sheriff  was  dining,  but 
arrived  only  in  time  to  hear  that  he  was  about  to  take 
horse  on  his  return  home.  On  seeing  him  preparing  to 
mount,  bearing  a  lantern  in  his  hand,  as  the  night  was 
dark  and  the  roads  bad,  he  instantly  changed  his  purpose 
as  to  the  letter,  and  came  to  the  resolution  of  not  delivering 
it  at  all. 

"I  can  easily  say,"  thought  he,  "that  the  sheriff  had 
gone  home  before  I  came,  and  that  will  be  a  very  sufficient 
excuse.  In  the  meantime,"  he  added,  "I  will  cross  the 
country  and  be  out  on  the  road  before  him." 

The  sheriff  was  not  unarmed,  however,  and  felt  himself 
tolerably  well  prepared  for  any  attack  that  might  be  made 
on  him ;  and,  besides,  he  was  no  coward.  After  a  ride 
of  about  two  miles  he  found  himself  stopped,  and  almost  at 
the  same  instant  the  lantern  that  he  carried  was  knocked 
out  of  his  hand  and  extinguished,  but  not  until  he  caught 


134  WILLY  REILLY. 

a  faint  glimpse  of  the  robber's  person,  who,  from  his  dress, 
appeared  to  be  a  man  much  above  the  common  class. 
Quick  as  lightning,  he  pulled  out  one  of  his  pistols,  and, 
cocking  it,  held  himself  in  readiness.  The  night  was  dark, 
and  this  preparation  for  self-defence  was  unknown  to  his 
assailant.  On  feeling  the  reins  of  his  horse's  bridle  in  the 
hands  of  the  robber,  he  snapped  the  pistol  at  his  head,  but, 
alas !  it  only  flashed  in  the  pan.  The  robber,  on  the  other 
hand,  did  not  seem  anxious  to  take  his  life,  for  it  was  a 
principle  among  the  Happarees  to  shed,  while  exercising 
their  rapacious  functions,  as  little  blood  as  possible.  They 
have  frequently  taken  life  from  a  feeling  of  private  ven- 
geance, but  not  often,  while  robbing  on  the  king's  highway. 
The  sheriff,  now  finding  that  one  pistol  had  missed,  was 
about  to  draw  out  the  second,  when  he  was  knocked 
insensible  off  his  horse,  and  on  recovering  found  himself 
minus  the  fines  which  he  had  that  day  levied — all  the 
private  cash  about  him — and  his  case  of  pistols.  This, 
indeed,  was  a  bitter  incident  to  him ;  because,  in  addition 
to  the  loss  of  his  private  purse  and  fire-arms — which  he 
valued  as  nothing — he  knew  that  he  was  responsible  to 
Government  for  the  amount  of  the  fines. 

With  considerable  difficulty  he  was  able  to  re-mount  his 
horse,  and  with  a  sense  of  stupor,  which  was  very  painful, 
he  re-commenced  his  journey  home.  After  a  ride  of  about 
two  miles  he  met  three  horsemen,  who  immediately 
challenged  him  and  demanded  his  name  and  residence. 

"I  am  the  sheriff  of  the  county,"  he  replied,  "and  have 
been  robbed  of  a  large  sum  of  money  and  my  pistols ;  and 
now,"  he  added,  "may  I  beg  to  know  who  you  are,  and  by 
what  authority  you  demand  my  name  and  residence]" 

"  Excuse  us,  Mr.  Sheriff,"  they  replied ;  "  we  belong  to 
the  military  detachment  which  Government  has  placed 
under  the  control  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft." 

"Oh,  indeed,"  exclaimed  the  sheriff;  "I  wish  to  heaven 
you  had  been  a  little  more  advanced  on  your  journey ;  you 
might  have  saved  me  from  being  plundered,  as  I  have 
been,  and  probably  secured  the  robber." 

"  Could  you  observe,  sir,  what  was  the  villain's  appearance  V 

"  I  had  a  small  lantern,"  replied  the  functionary,  "  by 
which  I  caught  a  brief  but  uncertain  glance  of  him.     I  am 


WILLY  EEILLY.  135 

not  quite  certain  that  I  could  recognise  his  features,  though, 
if  I  saw  him  again— but  perhaps  I  might;  certainly  I 
could  his  dress." 

"How  was  he  dressed,  sir 3"  they  inquired. 

"Quite  beyond  the  common,"  said  the  sheriff;  "  I  think 
he  had  on  a  brown  coat,  of  superior  cloth  and  make,  and  I 
think,  too,  the  buckles  of  his  shoes  were  silver." 

"And  his  features,  Mr.  Sheriff]" 

"  I  cannot  exactly  say,"  he  returned ;  "  I  was  too  much 
agitated  to  be  able  to  recollect  them ;  but,  indeed,  the  dim 
glimpse  I  got  was  too  brief  to  afford  me  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  them  with  anything  like  distinctness." 

"From  the  description  you  have  given,  sir,"  said  one  of 
them,  "  the  man  who  robbed  you  must  have  been  Reilly 
the  Outlaw.  That  is  the  very  dress  he  has  been  in  the 
habit  of  wearing.     Was  he  tall,  sir,  and  stout  in  person  V ' 

"  He  was  a  very  large  man, 'certainly,"  replied  the  sheriff; 
"  and  I  regret  I  did  not  see  his  face  more  distinctly." 

t;lt  can  be  no  other,  Mr.  Sheriff,"  observed  the  man; 
"the  fellow  has  no  means  of  living  now,  unless  by  levying 
contributions  on  the  road.  For  my  part,  I  think  the 
scoundrel  can  make  himself  invisible ;  but  it  must  go  hard 
with  us  or  we  will  secure  him  yet.  Would  you  wish  an 
escort  home,  Mr.  Sheriff]  because,  if  you  do,  we  shall 
accompany  you." 

"  No,"  replied  the  other ;  "  I  thank  you.  I  would  not 
have  ventured  home  unattended  if  the  .Red  E-apparee  had 
been  still  at  his  vocation,  an  1  his  gang  undispersed ;  but  as 
he  is  now  on  the  safe  side  I  appretiend  no  danger." 

"It's  not  at  all  impossible  but  Reiliy  may  step  into  his 
shoes,"  said  the  cavalry  man. 

"  I  have  now  neither  money  nor  arms,"  continued  the 
sheriff;  "nothing  the  villain  robbers  could  covet,  and  what, 
then,  have  I  to  fear  T 

"  You  have  a  lite,  sir,"  observed  the  man  respectfully, 
"  and  if  you'll  allow  me  to  say  it — the  life  of  a  man  who 
is  not  very  well  liked  in  the  country,  in  consequence  of 
certain  duties  you  are  obliged  to  perform.  Come  then,  sir, 
we  shall  see  you  home." 

It  was  so  arranged,  and  the  sheriff  reached  his  own  resi-' 
deuce,  under  their  escort,  with  perfect  safety. 


1J0  WILL*  RSILLY. 

This,  indeed,  was  a  night  of  adventure  to  Reilly — 
kuuted,  as  he  was,  like  a  beast  of  prey.  After  what  had 
taken  place  already  in  the  early  portion  of  it,  he  appre- 
hended no  further  pursuit,  and  in  this  respect  he  felt  bis 
mind  comparatively  at  ease — for,  in  addition  to  any  other 
conviction  of  his  safety,  he  knew  that  the  night  was  far 
advanced,  and  as  the  country  was  unsettled,  he  was  not 
ignorant  that  the  small  military  parties  that  were  in  the 
habit  of  scouring  the  country  generally — unless  when  in 
the  execution  of  some  express  duty — retired  to  their 
quarters  at  an  early  hour,  in  order  to  avoid  the  severe 
retaliations  which  were  frequently  made  upon  them  by  the 
infuriated  peasantry  whom  they — or  rather  the  Govern- 
ment which  employed  them — had  almost  driven  to  mad- 
ness, and  would  have  driven  to  insurrection  had  the 
people  possessed  the  means  of  rising.  As  it  was,  however, 
he  dreaded  no  further  pursuit  this  night,  for  the  reasons 
which  we  have  state  J. 

In  the  meantime  the  sheriff,  feeling  obliged  by  the 
civility  of  the  three  dragoons,  gave  them  refreshments  on 
a  very  liberal  scale,  of  which — rather  exhausted  as  they 
were — they  made  a  very  liberal  use.  Feeling  themselves 
now  considerably  stimulated  by  liquor,  they  mounted  their 
horses  and  proceeded  towards  their  barracks  at  a  quick 
pace.  In  consequence  of  the  locality  in  which  the  sheriff 
lived,  it  was  necessary  that  they  should  travel  in  a 
direction  opposite  to  that  by  which  Beilly  and  the  priest 
were  goiug.  At  all  events,  after  riding  a  couple  of  miles, 
they  overtook  three  infantry  soldiers  who  were  also  on 
their  way  to  quarters.  Tne  blood,  however,  of  the 
troopers  was  up — thanks  to  the  sheriff;  they  mentioned 
the  robbery,  aud  requested  the  three  infantry  to  precede 
them  as  an  advanced  guard,  as  quietly  as  possible,  stating 
that  there  might  still  be  a  chance  of  coming  across  the 
villain  who  had  plundered  the  sheriff;  intimatiug  their 
impression,  at  the  same  time,  that  Reilly  was  the  man,  and 
adding,  that  if  they  could  secure  him  their  fortune  wa3 
made.  As  has  always  been  usual  in  executing  cases  of  the 
law,  attended  with  peculiar  difficulty,  these  men — the 
infantry — like  our  present  detectives,  had  gone  out  that 
night  in  coloured  clothes.     On  perceiving  two  individuals 


WILLY   RE  ILLY.  137 

approaching  them  in  the  dim  distance,  they  immediately 
threw  their  guns  into  the  ditch,  lest  they  should  put  our 
friends  upon  their  guard  and  cause  them  to  escape,  if  they 
could.  Reilly  could  have  readily  done  so  ;  but  having 
only,  a  few  minutes  before,  heard,  from  the  poor  old  priest 
that  he  had,  for  some  months  past,  been  branded  and 
pursued  as  a  felon,  he  could  not  think  of  abandoning  him 
now  that  he  was  feeble  and  jaded  with  fatigue,  as  well  as 
with  age.  Now  it  so  happened,  that  one  of  these  fellows 
had  been  a  Roman  Catholic,  and  having  committed  some 
breach  of  the  law,  found  it  as  safe,  as  it  was  convenient,  to 
change  his  creed,  and  as  he  spoke  the  Irish  language 
fluently — indeed  there  were  scarcely  any  other  then  spoken 
by  the  peasantry — he  commenced  clapping  his  hands,  on 
seeing  the  two  men,  and  expressing  the  deepest  sorrow  for 
the  loss  of  his  wife,  from  whose  funeral,  it  appeared  from 
his  lamentations,  he  was  then  returning. 

"We  have  nothing  to  apprehend  here,"  said  Reilly; 
"  this  poor  fellow  is  in  sorrow,  it  seems — God  help  him ! — ■ 
Let  us  proceed." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  the  treacherous  villain,  clapping  his 
hands — [we  translate  his  words] — "Oh,  Yeeali  !  Yeeah  /* 
what  a  bitther  loss  you'll  be,  my  darlin'  Madge,  to  me  and 
your  orphan  childher,  now  and  for  evermore!  Oh,  where 
was  there  such  a  wife,  neighbours'?  who  ever  heard  her 
harsh  word,  or  her  loud  voice?  And  from  mornin'  till 
night  ever,  ever  busy  in  keepin'  everything  tight,  and 
clane,  and  regular!  Let  me  alone,  will  yez1?  I'll  go  back 
and  sleep  upon  her  grave  this  night — so  I  will ;  and  if  all 
the  blasted  sogers  in  Ireland — may  sweet  bad  luck  to 
them! — were  to  come  to  prevent  me^^d  not  allow  them. 
Oh,  Madge,  darlin',  but  I'm  the  lonely  and  heart-broken 
man  widout  you  this  night  1" 

"  Come,  come,"  said  the  priest,  "  have  firmness,  poor 
man,  other  people  have  these  calamities  to  bear  as  well  as 
yourself.     Be  a  man." 

"  Oh,  are  you  a  priest,  sir"?  bekase  if  you  are  I  want  con- 
solation if  ever  a  sorrowful  man  did." 

"lam  a  priest,"  replied  the  unsuspecting  man,  "  and 
anything  I  can  do  to  calm  your  mind,  I'll  do  it." 

*  God,  God, 


133  WILLY   REILLY; 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  these  words,  when  Reiily  felt 
his  two  arms  strongly  pinioned,  and  as  the  men  who  had 
seized  him  were  powerful,  the  struggle  between  him  and 
them  was  dreadful.  The  poor  priest,  at  the  same  moment, 
found  himself  also  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  the  bereaved 
widower,  to  whom  he  proved  an  easy  victim,  as  he  was 
incapable  of  making  resistance,  which,  indeed,  he  declined 
to  attempt.  If  he  did  not  possess  bodily  strength,  how- 
ever, he  was  not  without  presence  of  mind.  For  whilst 
Reiily  and  his  captors  were  engaged  in  a  fierce  and 
powerful  conflict,  he  placed  his  fore-finder  and  thumb  in 
his  mouth,  from  which  proceeded  a  whistle  so  piercingly 
loud  and  shrill,  that  it  awoke  the  midnight  echoes  around 
them.  This  was  considered  by  the  dragoons  as  a  signal 
from  their  friends  in  advance,  and  without  the  loss  of  a 
moment,  they  set  spurs  to  their  horses,  and  dashed  up  to 
the  scene  of  struggle,  just  as  Reiily  had  got  his  right  arm 
extricated,  and  knocked  one  of  his  captors  down.  In  an 
instant,  however,  the  three  dragoons,  aided  by  the  other 
men,  were  upon  him,  and  not  less  than  three  cavalry  pistols 
were  levelled  at  his  head.  Unfortunately  at  this  moment, 
the  moon  began  to  rise,  and  the  dragoons,  on  looking  at 
him  more  closely,  observed  that  he  was  dressed  precisely  as 
the  sheriff  had  described  the  person  who  robbed  him — the 
brown  coat,  light-coloured  breeches,  and  silver  buckles — 
for,  indeed,  this  was  his  usual  dress." 

"You  are  Willy  Reiily,"  said  the  man  who  had  been 
spokesman  in  their  interview  with  the  sheriff:  "you 
needn't  deny  it,  sir, — I  know  you!" 

"If  you  know  nie,  then,"  replied  Reiily,  "where  is  the 
necessity  for  askinjifty  name?" 

"I  ask  again,  sir,  what  is  your  name?  If  you  be  the 
man  I  suspect  you  to  be,  you  will  deny  it." 

"  My  name,"  replied  the  other,  "  is  William  Reiily,  and 
as  I  am  conscious  of  no  crime  against  society — of  no  offence 
against  the  State — I  shall  not  deny  it." 

"  I  knew  I  was  right,"  said  the  dragoon.  "  Mr.  Reiily, 
you  are  our  prisoner  on  many  charges;  not  the  least  of 
which  is  your  robbery  of  the  sheriff  this  night.  You  must 
come  with  us  to  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft ;  so  must  this  other 
person  who  seems  your  companion." 


WILLY   REILLY.  139 

"Not  a  foot  111  go  to  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's  to-night," 
replied  the  priest.  "I  have  made  my  mind  up  against 
such  a  stretch  at  such  an  hour  as  this  y  and,  with  the  help 
of  God,  I'll  stick  to  my  resolution."' 

"  Why  do  you  refuse  to  go  V  asked  the  man,  a  good  deal 
surprised  at  such  language. 

"  Just  for  a  reason  I  have :  as  for  that  fellow  being 
Willy  Reilly,  he's  no  more  Willy  Reilly  than  I  am ;  what- 
ever he  is,  however,  he's  a  good  man  and  true,  but  must  be 
guided  by  wiser  heads  than  his  own ;  and  I  now  tell  him 
— ay,  and  you  too — that  he  won't  see  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft's  treacherous  face  to-night,  no  more  than  myself." 

"  Come,"  said  one  of  them,  "drag  the  idolatrous  old  rebel 
along.     Come,  my  old  couple-beggar,  there's  a  noose  before 

you." 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words  when  twenty  men, 
armed  with  strong  pikes,  jumped  out  on  the  road  before 
them,  and  about  the  same  number,  with  similar  weapons, 
behind  them.  In  fact,  they  were  completely  hemmed  in  ; 
and,  as  the  road  was  narrow  and  the  ditches  high,  they 
were  not  at  all  in  a  capacity  to  make  resistance. 

"Surrender  your  prisoners,"  said  a  huge  man,  in  a 
voice  of  thunder — "  surrender  your  prisoners — here  we  are 
ten  to  one  against  you ;  or  if  you  don't,  I  swear,  there 
"won't  be  a  living  man  amongst  you  in  two  minutes'  time. 
Mark  us  well — we  are  every  man  of  us  armed — and  I  will 
not  ask  you  a  second  time."  . 

As  to  numbers  and  weapons  the  man  spoke  truth,  and 
the  military  party  saw  at  once  that  their  prisoners  must  be 
given  up." 

"Let  us  have  full  revenge  on  them  now,  boys," 
exclaimed  several  voices :  "  down  with  the  tyrannical 
villains  that  are  parsecuting  and  rcurdherin'  the  country 
out  of  a  face.  This  night  closes  their  black  work;"  and  as 
the  words  were  uttered,  the  military  felt  themselves 
environed  and  pressed  in  upon  by  upwards  of  five-and- 
twenty  sharp  and  bristling  pikes. 

"It  is  true,  you  may  murder  us,"  replied  the  dragoon ; 
"  but  we  are  soldiers,  and  to  die  is  a  soldier's  duty.  Stand 
back,"  said  he,  "  for,  by  all  that's  sacred,  if  you  approach 
another  step,  William  Rsilly  and  that  rebel  priest  will  fall 


HO  WILLY  REILLY. 

dead  at  your  feet.     We  may  die  then  •  but  we  will  sell  our 
lives  dearly.     Cover  the  priest,  Robinson." 

."  Boys,"  said  the  priest,  addressing  the  insurgent  party, 
u  hold  back,  for  God's  sake,  and  for  mine.  Kemember  that 
these  men  are  only  doing  their  duty,  and  that  whoever  is 
to  be  blamed,  it  is  not  they — no,  but  the  wicked  men  and 
cruel  laws  that  sent  them  upon  us.  Why,  now,  if  these 
men,  out  of  compassion  and  a  feeling  of  kindness  to  poor 
persecuted  creatures,  as  we  are,  took  it  into  their  heads  or 
their  hearts  to  let  that  man  and  me  off,  they  would  have 
been,  probably,  treated  like  dogs,  for  neglecting  their  duty. 
I  am,  as  you  know,  a  minister  of  God,  and  a  nun  of  peace, 
whose  duty  it  is  to  prevent  bloodshed  wheuever  I  can,  and 
save  human  life,  whether  it  is  that  of  a  Catholic  or  a 
Protestant.  Recollect,  my  friends,  that  you  will,  every  one 
of  you,  have  to  stand  before  the  judgment  throne  of  God, 
to  seek  for  mercy,  and  salvation.  As  you  hope  for  that 
mercy,  then,  at  the  moment  of  your  utmost  need,  I  implore, 
I  entreat  you,  to  show  these  men  mercy  now,  and  allow 
them  to  go  their  way  in  safety." 

<;I  agree  with  every  word  the  priest  has  said,"  added 
Reilly;  "  not  from  any  apprehension  of  the  threat  held  out 
against  myself,  but  from,  I  trust,  a  higher  principle.  Here 
are  only  six  men,  who,  as  his  Reverence  justly  said,  are,  after 
all,  only  in  the  discharge  of  their  public  duty.  Ou  ths 
other  hand,  there  are  at  least  forty  or  fifty  of  you  against 
them.  Now  I  appeal  to  yourselves,  whether  it  would  be  a 
manly,  or  generous,  or  Curistian  act,  to  slaughter  so  poor  a 
handful  of  men  by  the  force  of  numbers.  No :  there  would 
be  neither  credit  nor  honour  in  such  an  act.  I  assure  you, 
my  friends,  it  would  disgrace  your  common  name,  your 
common  credit,  and  your  common  country.  Nay,  it  would 
seem  like  cowardice,  and  only  give  a  handle  to  your 
enemies  to  tax  you  with  it.  Bat  I  know  you  are  not 
cowards,  but  brave  and  generous  men,  whose  hearts  and 
spirits  are  above  a  mean  action.  If  you  were  cowardly 
butchers,  I  know  we  might  speak  to  you  in  vain ;  but  we 
know  you  are  incapable  of  imbruing  your  hands,  and 
steeping  your  souls  in  the  guilt  of  unresisting  blood — for 
so  I  may  term  it,  where  there  are  so  few  against  so  many. 
My  frieuds,  go  horn?,   then,  in  the  name  of  God,  and,  as 


WILLY  REILLY.  141 

this  reverend  gentleman  said,  allow  these  men  to  pass  their 
way  without  injury." 

"But  who  are  you,"  said  their  huge  leader,  in  his 
terrible  voice,  "who  presumes  to  lecture  usT 

"  I  am  one,"  replied  Reilly,  "  who  has  suffered  more 
deeply,  probably,  than  any  man  here.  I  am  without  house 
or  home,  proscribed  by  the  vengeance  of  a  villain — a 
villain  who  has  left  me  without  a  shelter  for  my  head — 
who,  this  night,  has  reduced  my  habitation,  and  all  that 
appertained  to  it,  to  a  heap  of  ashes — who  is  on  my  trail, 
night  and  day,  and  who  will  be  on  my  trail,  in  order  to  glut 
his  vengeance  with  my  blood.  Now,  my  friends,  listen— I 
take  God  to  witness,  that  if  that  man  were  here  at  this 
moment,  I  would  plead  for  his  life  with  as  much  earnest- 
ness as  I  do  for  those  of  the  men  who  are  here  at  your 
mercy.  I  feel  that  it  would  be  cowardly  and  inhuman  to 
take  it  under  such  circumstances ;  yes,  and  unworthy  of  the 
name  of  William  Reilly.  Now,"  he  added,  "  these  men  will 
pass  safely  to  their  quarters." 

As  they  were  about  to  resume  their  journey,  the  person 
who  seemed  to  have  the  command  of  the  military  said — 

"  Mr.  Reilly,  one  word  with  you :  I  feel  that  you  have 
saved  our  lives ;  I  may  requite  you  for  that  generous  act 
yet;"  and  he  pressed  his  hand  warmly,  as  he  spoke;  after 
which  they  proceeded  on  their  way. 

That  the  person  of  Reilly  was  not  recognised  by  any  of 
these  men  is  accounted  for  by  a  well-known  custom,  peculiar 
to  such  meetings,  both  then  and  now.  The  individuals 
before  and  around  him  were  all  strangers,  from  distant 
parts  of  the  country ;  for  whenever  an  outrage  is  to  be 
committed,  or  a  nocturnal  drilling  to  take  place,  the 
peasantry  start  across  the  country,  in  twos  and  threes, 
until  they  quietly  reach  some  lonely  and  remote  spot, 
where  their  persons  are  not  known. 

No  sooner  had  he  mentioned  his  name,  however,  than 
there  arose  a  peculiar  murmur  among  the  insurgents — such 
a  murmur,  indeed,  as  it  was  difficult  to  understand ;  there 
was  also  a  rapid  consultation  in  Irish,  which  was  closed  by 
a  general  determination  to  restrain  their  vengeance  for  that 
night,  at  least,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  celebrated  young 
martyr — for  as  such  they  looked  upou  him — to  allow  the 


142  WILLY   REILL5. 

military  to  pass  on  without  injury.  Eeilly  then  addressed 
them  in  Irish,  and  thanked  them,  both  in  his  own  name 
and  that  of  the  priest,  for  the  respect  evinced  by  their 
observation  of  the  advice  they  had  given  them.  The 
priest  also  addressed  them  in  Irish,  aware,  as  he  was, 
that  one  sentence  in  that  language,  especially  from  a  person 
in  a  superior  rank  of  life,  carries  more  weight  than  a  whole 
oration  in  the  language  of  the  Sassenach.  The  poor  old 
man's  mind  was  once  more  at  ease,  and  after  these  rough, 
but  not  intractable  men,  had  given  three  cheers  for  "  bould 
Willy  Reilly,"  three  more  for  the  Cooleen  Baioi,  not  for- 
getting the  priest,  the  latter,  while  returning  thanks,  had 
them  in  convulsions  of  laughter. 

"  May  I  never  do  harm,"  proceeded  his  Reverence,  humo- 
rously, "  but  the  first  Christian  duty  that  every  true 
Catholic  ought  to  learn  is  to  whistle  on  his  fingers.  The 
moment  ever  your  children,  boys,  are  able  to  give  a  squall, 
clap  their  fore-finger  and  thumb  in  their  mouth,  and  leave 
the  rest  to  nature.  Let  them  talk  of  their  spinnet  and 
sinnet,  their  fiddle  and  their  diddle,  their  dancing  and 
their  prancing,  but  there  is  no  genteel  accomplishment  able 
to  be  compared  to  a  rousing  whistle  on  the  fingers.  See 
what  it  did  for  us  to-night.  My  soul  to  glory,  but  only  for 
it,  Mr.  Reilly  and  I  would  have  soon  taken  a  journey  with 
our  heels  foremost ;  and  what  is  worse,  the  villains  would 
have  forced  us  to  take  a  bird's-eye  view  of  our  own  funeral 
from  the  three  sticks,  meaning  the  two  that  stand  up,  and 
the  third  that  goes  across  them.*  However,  God's  good, 
and  after  all,  boys,  you  see  there  is  nothing  like  an 
accomplished  education.  As  to  the  soldiers,  I  don't  think, 
myself,  that  they'll  recover  the  bit  of  fright  they  got  until 
the  new  potatoes  come  in.  Troth,  while  you  were  gather- 
ing in  about  them,  I  felt  that  the  unfortunate  vagabones 
were  to  be  pitied;  but,  Lord  help  us,  when  men  are  in 
trouble — especially  in  fear  of  their  lives — and  with  twelve 
inches  of  sharp  iron  near  their  breast?^  ii's  wonderful  what 
effect  fear  will  have  on  them.  Troui,  I  wasn't  far  from 
feeling  the  same  thing  myself,  only  I  knew  there  was  relief 
at  hand ;  at  all  events,  it's  well  you  kept  your  hands  off 


*  The  <rallovr.s. 


WILLY  REILLY.  143 

them,  for  now,  thank  goodness,  you  can  step  home  without 
the  guilt  of  murder  on  your  souls." 

Father  Maguire,  for  such  was  his  name,  possessed  the 
art  of  adapting  his  language  and  dialect  to  those  whom  he 
addressed,  it  mattered  not  whether  they  were  South,  West, 
or  North ;  he  was,  in  fact,  a  priest  who  had  never  been  in 
any  college,  but  received  ordination  in  consequence  of  the 
severity  of  the  laws,  whose  operation,  by  banishing  so  many 
of  that  class  from  the  country,  rendered  the  services  of  such 
men  indispensable  to  the  spiritual  wants  of  the  people. 
Father  Maguire,  previous  to  his  receiving  holy  orders,  had 
been  a  schoolmaster,  and  exercised  his  functions  in  that 
capacity  in  holes  and  corners ;  sometimes  on  the  sheltery  or 
sunny  side  of  a  hedge,  as  the  case  might  be,  and  on  other 
occasions  when  and  where  he  could.  In  his  magisterial 
capacity,  "the  accomplishment"  of  whistling  was  absolutely 
necessary  to  him,  because  it  often  happened  that  in  stealing 
in  the  morning  from  hi3  retreat  during  the  preceding 
night,  he  knew  no  more  where  to  meet  his  little  flock  of 
scholars  than  they  did  where  to  meet  him,  the  truth  being 
that  he  seldom  found  it  safe  to  teach  two  days  successively 
in  the  same  place.  Having  selected  the  locality  for 
instruction  during  the  day,  he  put  his  fore-finger  and 
thumb  into  his  mouth,  and  emitted  a  whistle  that  went 
over  half  the  country.  Having  thus  given  the  signal  three 
times,  his  scholars  began  gradually  and  cautiously  to  make 
their  appearance,  radiating  towards  him  from  all  directions, 
reminding  one  of  a  hen  in  a  farm-yard,  who,  having  fallen 
upon  some  wholesome  crumbs,  she  utters  that  peculiar 
sound  which  immediately  collects  her  eager  little  flock 
about  her,  in  order  to  dispense  amon^  them  the  good 
things  she  has  to  give.  Poor  Father  Maguire  was  sim- 
plicity itself,  for,  although  cheerful,  and  a  good  deal  of  a 
humourist,  yet  he  was  pious,  inoffensive,  and  charitable. 
True,  it  is  not  to  be  imagined  that  he  could  avoid  bearing  a 
very  strong  feeling  of  enmity  against  the  Establishment, 
as,  indeed,  we  do  not  see,  so  long  as  human  nature  is  what 
it  is,  how  he  could  have  done  otherwise  ;  he  hated  it,  how- 
ever, in  the  aggregate,  not  in  detail,  for  the  truth  is,  that 
he  received  shelter  and  protection  nearly  as  often  from  the 
Protestants   themselves,   both  lay  and  clerical,  as  he  did 


Hi  WILLY  REILLT. 

from  those  of  his  own  creed.  The  poor  man's  crime  against 
the  State  proceeded  naturally  from  the  simplicity  of  his 
character  and  the  goodness  of  his  heart.  A  Protestant 
peasant  had  seduced  a  Catholic  young  woman  of  con- 
siderable attractions,  and  was  prevailed  upon  to  marry  her, 
in  order  to  legitimatise  the  infant  which  she  was  about  to 
bear.  Our  poor  priest,  anxious  to  do  as  much  good,  and 
to  prevent  as  much  evil  as  he  could,  was  prevailed  upon  to 
perform  the  ceremony,  contrary  to  the  law  in  that  case 
made  and  provided.  Ever  since  that,  the  poor  man  had 
been  upon  his  keeping  like  a  felon,  as  the  law  had  made 
him ;  but  so  well  known  were  his  harmless  life,  his  good- 
ness of  heart,  and  his  general  benevolence  of  disposition — 
for,  alas!  he  was  incapable  of  being  benevolent  in  any 
practical  sense — that,  unless  among  the  bigoted  officials  of 
the  day,  there  existed  no  very  strong  disposition  to  hand 
him  over  to  the  clutches  of  the  terrible  statute  which  he 
had,  good  easy  man,  been  prevailed  on  to  violate. 

In  the  meantime,  the  formidable  body  who  had  saved 
Reilly' s  life  and  his  own  dispersed,  or  disappeared  at  least; 
but  not  until  they  had  shaken  hands  most  cordially  with 
Reilly  and  the  priest,  who  now  found  themselves  much  in 
the  same  position  in  which  they  stood  previous  to  their 
surprise  and  arrest. 

"  Now,"  said  Reilly, . "  the  question  is,  what  are  we  to 
do  1  where  are  we  to  go  ]  and  next,  how  did  you  come  to 
know  of  the  existence  in  this  precise  locality  of  such  a 
body  of  men  V 

"  Because  I  have  set  my  face  against  such  meeting?/'  re- 
plied the  priest.  "One  of  those  who  was  engaged  to  bs 
present  happened  to  mention  the  fact  to  me  as  a  clergyman, 
but  you  know  that,  as  a  clergyman,  I  can  proceed  no 
further/' 

"I  understand,"  said  Reilly,  " I  perfectly  understand 
you.     It  is  not  necessary.     And  now  let  me  say " 

"Always  trust  in  God,  my  friend,"  replied  the  priest,  in 
an  accent  quite  different  from  that  which  he  had  used  to 
the  peasantry.  "I  told  you,  not  long  ago,  that  you  would 
have  a  bed  to-night : — follow  me,  and  I  will  lead  you  to  a 
crypt  of  nature's  own  making,  which  was  not  known  to 
mortal  man  three  months  ago,  and  which  is  now  known 


WILLY  REILLY.  145 

only  to  those  whose  interest  it  is  to  keep  the  knowledge  of 
it  silent  as  the  grave." 

They  then  proceeded,  and  soon  came  to  a  gap  or  opening 
on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  road  through  which  they 
passed,  the  priest  leading.  Next  they  found  themselves  in 
a  wild  gully  or  ravine,  that  was  both  deep  and  narrow. 
This  they  crossed,  and  arrived  at  a  ledge  of  precipitous 
rocks,  most  of  which  were  overhung  to  the  very  ground 
with  long  luxuriant  heather.  The  priest  went  along  this 
until  he  came  to  one  particular  spot,  when  he  stooped,  and 
observed  a  particular  round  stone  bedded  naturally  in  the 
earth. 

"God — blessed  be  His  name — has  made  nothing  in  vain," 
he  whispered  ;  "  I  must  go  foremost,  but  do  as  I  do."  He 
then  raised  up  the  long  heath,  and  entered  a  low  narrow 
fissure  in  the  rocks ;  Eeilly  following  him  closely.  The 
entrance  was,  indeed,  so  narrow  that  it  was  capable  of 
admitting  but  one  man  at  a  time,  and  even  that  by  his 
working  himself  in  upon  his  knees  and  elbows.  In  this 
manner  they  advanced  in  utter  darkness  for  about  thirty 
yards,  when  they  reached  a  second  opening,  about  three 
feet  high,  which  bore  some  resemblance  to  a  Gothic  arch. 
This  also  it  was  necessary  to  enter  consecutively.  Having 
passed  this  they  were  able  to  proceed  upon  their  legs,  still 
stooping,  however,  until,  as  they  got  onwards,  they  found 
themselves  able  to  walk  erect.  A  third  and  larger  opening, 
however,  was  still  before  them,  over  which  hung  a  large 
thick  winnow-cloth. 

"  Now,"  said  the  priest,  "  leave  everything  to  me.  If  we 
were  to  put  our  heads  in  rashly  here  we  might  get  a  pair 
of  bullets  through  them  that  would  have  as  little  mercy  oa 
us  as  those  of  the  troopers,  had  wp  ^ot  them.  No  clergy- 
man here  or  anywhere  else  ever  carries  fire-arms,  but  there 
are  laymen  inside  who  are  not  bound  by  our  regulations. 
The  only  arms  we  are  allowed  to  carry  are  the  truths  of 
our  religion  and  the  integrity  of  our  lives." 

He  then  advanced  a  step  or  two,  and  shook  the  winnow* 
cloth  three  times,  when  a  deep  voice  from  behind  it  asked, 
"Quis  venit?"  "Introibo  ad  alfare  Dei"  replied  the  priest, 
who  had  no  sooner  uttered  the  words  than  the  cloth  was 
partially  removed,   and    a   voice    exclaimed,    "  Benedicite, 

K 


KG  WILLY   EEILLY. 

dilecte  f rater ;  beatus  qui  venit  in  nomine   Domini  ct  sacra? 
sanctce  Ecclesice." 

Reilly  and  his  companion  then  entered  the  cave,  which 
they  had  no  sooner  done  than  the  former  was  seized  with  a 
degree  of  wonder,  astonishment,  and  awe,  such  as  he  had 
never  experienced  in  his  life  before.  The  whole  cavern 
was  one  flashing  scene  of  light  and  beauty,  and  reminded 
him  of  the  gorgeous  descriptions  that  were  to  be  found  in 
Arabian  literature,  or  the  brilliancy  of  the  fairy  palaces  as 
he  had  heard  of  them  in  the  mellow  legends  of  his  own 
country.  From  the  roof  depended  gorgeous  and  immense 
stalactites,  some  of  them  reaching  half-way  to  the  earth, 
and  others  of  them  resting  upon  the  earth  itself.  Several 
torches,  composed  of  dried  bog  fir,  threw  their  strong  light 
among  them  with  such  effect,  that  the  eye  became  not  only 
dazzled  but  fatigued  and  overcome  by  the  radiance  of  a 
scene  so  unusual.  In  fact,  the  whole  scene  appeared  to  be 
out  of,  or  beyond,  nature.  There  were  about  fifteen  in- 
dividuals present,  most  of  them  in  odd  and  peculiar  dis- 
guises, which  gave  them  a  grotesque  and  supernatural 
appearance,  as  they  passed  about  with  their  strong  torches 
— some  bright  and  some  flashing  red  ;  and  as  the  light  of 
either  one  or  other  fell  upon  the  stalactites,  giving  them  a 
hue  of  singular  brilliancy  or  deep  purple,  Reilly  could  not 
utter  a  word.  The  costumes  of  the  individuals  about  him 
were  so  strange  and  varied  that  he  knew  not  what  to  think. 
Some  were  in  the  dress  of  clergymen,  others  in  that  of  ill- 
clad  peasants,  and  nearly  one-third  of  them  in  the  garb  of 
mendicants,  who,  from  their  care-worn  faces,  appeared  to 
have  suffered  severely  from  the  persecution  of  the  times. 
In  a  few  minutes,  however,  about  half-a-dozen  diminutive 
beings  made  their  appearance,  busied,  as  far  as  he  could 
guess,  in  employments,  which  his  amazement  at  the  whole 
spectacle,  unprepared  as  he  was  for  it,  prevented  him  from 
understanding.  If  he  had  been  a  man  of  weak  or  super- 
stitious mind,  unacquainted  with  life  and  the  world,  it  is 
impossible  to  say,  what  he  might  have  imagined.  Inde- 
pendently of  this — strong-minded  as  he  was — the  impres- 
sion made  upon  him  by  the  elf-like  sprites  that  ran  about 
so  busily,  almost  induced  him,  for  a  few  moments,  to  sur- 
render to  the  illusion  that  he  stood  among  individuals  who 


WILLY   REILLY.  147 

had  little  or  no  natural  connexion  with  man  or  the  external 
world  which  he  inhabited.  Beflection,  however,  and  the 
state  of  the  country  came  to  his  aid,  and  he  reasonably- 
inferred  that  the  cavern  in  which  he  stood  was  a  place  of 
concealment  for  those  unfortunate  individuals,  who,  like 
himself,  felt  it  necessary  to  evade  the  vengeance  of  the  laws. 
Whilst  Eeilly  was  absorbed  in  the  novelty  and  excite- 
ment of  this  strange  and  all  but  supernatural  spectacle,  the 
priest  held  a  short  conversation,  at  some  distance  from 
him,  with  the  strange  figures  which  had  surprised  him  so 
much.  Whenever  he  felt  himself  enabled  to  take  his  eyes 
from  the  splendour  and  magnificence  of  all  he  saw  around 
him,  to  follow  the  motions  of  Father  Maguire,  he  could 
observe  that  that  gentleman,  from  the  peculiar  vehemance 
of  his  attitudes  and  the  evident  rapidity  of  his  language, 
had  made  either  himself  or  his  presence  there  the  topic  of 
very  earnest  discussion.  In  fact  it  appeared  to  him  that 
the  priest,  from  whatever  cause,  appeared  to  be  rather  hard 
set  to  defend  him  and  to  justify  his  presence  among  them. 
A  tall,  stern-looking  man,  with  a  lofty  forehead  and  pale 
ascetic  features — from  which  all  the  genial  impulses  of 
humanity,  that  had  once  characterised  them,  seemed  almost 
to  have  been  banished  by  the  spirit  of  relentless  persecution 
— appeared  to  bear  hard  upon  him,  whatever  the  charge 
might  be,  and  by  the  severity  of  his  manner  and  the  solemn 
but  unyielding  emphasis  of  his  attitudes,  he  seemed  to  have 
wrought  himself  into  a  state  of  deep  indignation.  Bat  as 
it  is  better  that  our  readers  should  be  made  acquainted 
with  the  topic  of  their  discussion,  rather  than  their  atti- 
tudes, we  think  it  necessary  to  commence  it  in  a  new 
chapter. 


143  WILLY  REILLY. 


CHAPTER  X. 


SCENES  THAT  TOOK  PLACE  IN  THE  MOUNTAIN  CAVE. 

"  Tl  WILL  not  hear  your  apology,  brother,"  said  the  ta)l 
jjf  man  with  the  stern  voice;  "your  conduct,  knowing 
^°  our  position,  and  the  state  of  this  unhappy  and  per- 
secuted country,  is  not  only  indiscreet,  but  foolish,  inde- 
fensible, mad.  Here  is  a  young  man  attached — may  God 
pardon  him — to  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  most  persecuting 
heretics  in  the  kingdom.  She  is  beautiful,  by  every  report 
that  we  have  heard  of  her,  even  as  an  angel ;  but  reflect 
that  she  is  an  heiress — the  inheritress  of  immense  property 
— and  that,  as  a  matter  of  course,  the  temptations  are  a 
thousand  to  one  against  him.  He  will  yield,  I  tell  you,  to 
the  heretic  syren ;  and  as  a  passport  to  her  father's  favour 
and  her  affection,  he  will,  like  too  many  of  his  class, 
abandon  the  faith  of  his  ancestors,  and  become  an  apostate, 
for  the  sake  of  wealth  and  sensual  affection." 

"I  question,  my  lord,"  replied  the  priest,  "whether  it  is 
consistent  with  Christian  charity  to  impute  motives  of  such 
heinous  guilt,  when  we  are  not  in  a  condition  to  bear  out 
our  suspicions.  The  character  of  this  young  gentleman  as 
a  Catholic  is  firm  and  faithful,  and  I  will  stake  my  life 
upon  his  truth  and  attachment  to  our  Church." 

"You  know  him  not,  father,"  replied  the  bishop,  for 
such  he  was ;  '■*  I  tell  you,  and  I  speak  from  better  informa- 
tion than  you  possess,  that  he  is  already  suspected.  What 
has  been  his  conduct?  He  has  associated  himself  more 
with  Protestants  than  with  those  of  his  own  Church ;  he 
has  dined  with  them,  partaken  of  their  hospitality,  joined 
in  their  amusements,  slept  in  their  houses,  and  been  with 
them  as  a  familiar  friend  and  boon  companion.  I  seer 
father,  what  the  result  will  necessarily  be  :  first,  an  apostate 
— next,  an  informer — and,  lastly,  a  persecutor ;  and  all  for 
the  sake  of  wealth  and  the  seductive  charms  of  a  rich 
heiress.  I  say,  then,  that  deep  in  this  cold  cavern  shall  be 
his  grave,  rather  than  have  an  opportunity  of  betraying  the 


WILLY  REILLY.  H9 

shepherds  of  Christ's  persecuted  flock,  and  of  hunting  them 
into  the  caverns  of  the  earth  like  beasts  of  prey.  Our 
retreat  here  is  known  only  to  those  who,  for  the  sake  of 
truth  and  their  own  lives,  will  never  disclose  the  knowledge 
of  it,  bound  as  they  are,  in  addition  to  this,  by  an  oath  of 
the  deepest  and  most  dreadful  solemnity — an  oath  the 
violation  of  which  would  constitute  a  fearful  sacrilege  in 
the  eye  of  God.  As  for  these  orphans,  whose  parents  were 
victims  to  the  cruel  laws  that  are  grinding  us,  I  have  so 
trained  and  indoctrinated  them  into  a  knowledge  of  their 
creed,  and  a  sense  of  their  duty,  that  they  are  thoroughly 
trustworthy.  On  this  very  day  I  administered  to  them  the 
sacrament  of  confirmation.  No,  brother,  we  cannot  sacri- 
fice the  interests  and  welfare  of  our  holy  Church  to  the 
safety  of  a  single  life — to  the  safety  of  a  person  who  I 
foresee  will  be  certain  to  betray  us." 

"My  lord,"  replied  the  priest,  "I  humbly  admit  your 
authority  and  superior  sanctity,  for  in  what  does  your 
precious  life  fall  short  of  martyrdom  but  by  one  step  to  the 
elevation  which  leads  to  glory  1  I  mean  the  surrendering 
of  that  life  for  the  true  faith.  I  feel,  my  lord,  that  in  your 
presence  I  am  nothing ;  still,  in  our  holy  Church  there  is 
the  humble  as  well  as  the  exalted,  and  your  lordship  will 
admit  that  the  gradations  of  piety,  and  the  dispensations  of 
the  higher  and  the  lower  gifts,  proceed  not  only  from  the 
wisdom  of  God  but  from  the  necessities  of  man." 

"I  do  not  properly  understand  you,  father,"  said  the 
bishop,  in  a  voice  whose  stern  tones  were  mingled  with 
something  like  contempt. 

"I  beg  your  lordship  to  hear  me,"  proceeded  Father 
Maguire.  "  You  say  that  Eeilly  has  associated  more  fre- 
quently with  Protestants  than  he  has  with  persons  of  our 
own  religion.  That  may  be  true,  and  I  grant  that  it  is  so ; 
but,  my  lord,  are  you  aware  that  he  has  exercised  the 
influence  which  he  has  possessed  over  them  for  the  pro- 
tection and  advantage  and  safety  of  his  Catholic  friends 
and  neighbours,  to  the  very  utmost  of  his  ability,  and 
frequently  with  success  W 

"Yes;  they  obliged  him  because  they  calculated  upon 
his  accession  to  their  creed  and  principles. " 

"My  lord/' replied  the  priest,  with  firmness,  "I  am  an 


150  WILLY  REILLY. 

humble  but  independent  man ;  if  humanity  and  generosity, 
sxercised  as  I  have  seen  them  this  night,  guided  and 
directed  by  the  spirit  of  peace,  and  of  the  Word  of  God 
itself,  can  afford  your  lordship  a  guarantee  of  the  high  and 
Christian  principles  by  which  this  young  man's  heart  is 
actuated,  then  I  may  with  confidence  recommend  him  to 
your  clemency." 

"  What  would  you  say  V  asked  the  bishop. 

"My  lord,  he  was  the  principal  means  of  saving  the  lives 
of  six  Protestants — heretics,  I  mean — from  being  cut  off  in 
their  iniquities  and  sins  this  night." 

"How  do  you  mean?"  replied  the  stern  bishop;  "ex- 
plain yourself!" 

The  good  priest  then  gave  a  succinct  account  of  the  cir- 
cumstances with  which  the  reader  is  already  acquainted ;  and, 
after  having  finished  his  brief  narrative,  the  unfortunate  man 
perceived  that,  instead  of  having  rendered  Reilly  a  service, 
he  had  strengthened  the  suspicions  of  the  prelate  against  him. 

"  So  If  said  the  bishop,  "  you  advance  the  history  of  this 
dastardly  conduct  as  an  argument  in  his  favour !" 

As  he  uttered  these  words,  his  eyes,  which  had  actually 
become  blood-shot,  blazed  again  ;  his  breath  went  and  came 
strongly,  and  he  ground  his  teeth  with  rage. 

Father  Maguire,  and  those  who  were  present,  looked  at 
each  other  with  eyes,  in  which  might  be  read  an  expression 
of  deep  sorrow  and  compassion.  At  length  a  mild-looking, 
pale-faced  man,  with  a  clear,  benignant  eye,  approached 
him,  and  laying  his  hand  in  a  gentle  manner  upon  his  arm, 
said — "  Pray,  my  dear  lord,  let  me  entreat  your  lordship  to 
remember  the  precepts  of  our  great  Master :  *  Love  your 
enemies ;  bless  them  that  curse  you  ;  do  good  to  them  that 
hate  you,  and  pray  for  them  that  despitefully  use  you,  and 
persecute  you.'  And  surely,  my  lord,  no  one  knows  better 
than  you  do,  that  this  is  the  spirit  of  our  religion,  and  that 
whenever  it  is  violated,  the  fault  is  not  that  of  the  creed, 
but  the  man." 

"  Under  any  circumstances,"  said  the  bishop,  declining 
to  reply  to  this,  and  placing  his  open  hand  across  his  fore- 
head, as  if  he  felt  confusion  or  pain — "  under  any  circum- 
stances, this  person  must  take  the  oath  of  secrecy  with 
respect  to  the  existence  of  this  cave.     Call  him  up." 


WILLY  REILLY.  151 

Reilly,  as  we  have  said,  saw  at  once  that  an  angry 
discussion  had  taken  place,  and  felt  all  but  certain  that  he 
was  himself  involved  in  it.  The  priest,  in  obedience  to  the 
wish  expressed  by  the  bishop,  went  down  to  where  he 
stood,  and  whispering  to  him,  said : 

"  Salvation  to  me,  but  I  had  a  hard  battle  for  you.  I 
fought,  however,  like  a  trump.  The  strange,  and — ahem 
— kind  of  man  you  are  called  upon  to  meet  now,  is  one  of 
our  bishops — but  don't  you  pretend  to  know  that — he  has 
heard  of  your  love  for  the  Cooleen  Bawn,  and  of  her  love 
for  you — be  easy  now — not  a  thing  it  will  be  but  the 
meeting  of  two  thunderbolts  between  you — and  he's  afraid 
you'll  be  deluded  by  her  charms — turn  apostate  on  our 
hands — and  that  the  first  thing  you're  likely  to  do,  when 
you  get  out  of  this  subterranean  palace  of  ours  will  be,  to 
betray  its  existence  to  the  heretics.  I  have  now  put  you 
on  your  guard,  so  keep  a  sharp  look-out;  be  mild  as 
mother's  milk.  But  if  you  '  my  lord  '  him,  I'm  dished  as  a 
traitor  beyond  redemption." 

Now,  if  the  simple-hearted  priest  had  been  tempted  by 
the  enemy  himself  to  place  these  two  men  in  a  position 
where  a  battle-royal  between  them  was  most  likely  to 
ensue,  he  could  not  have  taken  a  more  successful  course  for 
that  object.  Reilly,  the  firm,  the  high-minded,  the  honour- 
able, and,  though  last  not  least,  the  most  indignant  at  any 
imputation  against  his  integrity,  now  accompanied  the 
priest  in  a  state  of  indignation  that  was  nearly  a  match  for 
that  of  the  bishop. 

"This  is  Mr.  Reilly,  gentlemen;  a  firm  and  an  honest 
Catholic,  who,  like  ourselves,  is  suffering  for  his  religion." 

"  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  the  bishop,  "  it  is  good  to  suffer  for 
our  religion." 

"It  is  our  duty,"  replied  Reilly,  "when  we  are  called 
upon  to  do  so ;  but  for  my  part,  I  must  confess,  I  have  no 
relish  whatsoever  for  the  honours  of  martyrdom.  I  would 
rather  aid  it  and  assist  it,  than  suffer  for  it." 

The  bishop  gave  a  stern  look  at  his  friends,  as  much  as 
to  say :  "  You  hear !  incipient  heresy  and  treachery  at  the,, 
first  step."  ..   ; 

"He's  more,  mad  than  the  bishop,"  .thought  Father 
Maguire ;  "  in  God's  name  what  will  come  next,  I  wonder  J 


102  WILLY   REILLY. 

Eeilly's  blood,  somehow,  is  up ;  and  there  they  are  looking 
at  each  other,  like  a  pair  o'  game  cocks,  with  their  necks 
stretched  out  in  a  cockpit — when  I  was  a  boy  I  used  to  go 
to  see  them — ready  to  dash  upon  one  another." 

"Are  you  not  now  suffering  for  your  religion]"  asked 
the  prelate. 

"  No,"  replied  Eeilly,  "  it  is  not  for  the  sake  of  my 
religion  that  I  have  suffered  anything.  Religion  is  made 
only  a  pretext  for  it ;  but  it  is  not,  in  truth,  on  that,  ac- 
count that  I  have  been  persecuted." 

"Pray  then,  sir,  may  I  inquire  the  cause  of  your  persecution?" 

"  You  may,"  replied  Reilly ;  "  but  I  shall  decliue  to 
answer  you.  It  comes  not  within  your  jurisdiction,  but  is 
a  matter  altogether  personal  to  myself,  and  with  which  you 
can  have  no  concern." 

Here  a  groan  from  the  priest,  which  he  could  not 
suppress,  was  shivered  off,  by  a  tremendous  effort,  into  a 
series  of  broken  coughs,  got  up  in  order  to  conceal  his 
alarm  at  the  fatal  progress  which  Reilly,  he  thought,  was 
unconsciously  making  to  his  own  ruin. 

"  Troth,"  thought  he,  "  the  soldiers  were  nothing  at  all 
to  what  this  will  be.  There  his  friends  would  have  found 
the  body  and  given  him  a  decent  burial ;  but  here  neither 
friend  nor  fellow  will  know  where  to  look  for  him.  I  was 
almost  the  first  man  that  took  the  oath  to  keep  the 
existence  of  this  place  secret  from  all  unless  those  that 
were  suffering  for  their  religion ;  and  now,  by  denying 
that,  he  has  me  in  the  trap  along  with  himself." 

A  second  groan,  shaken  out  of  its  continuity  into  another 
comical  shower  of  fragmental  coughs,  closed  this  dreary  but 
silent  soliloquy. 

The  bishop  proceeded  :  "  You  have  been  inveigled,  young 
ma%  by  the  charms  of  a  deceitful  and  heretical  syren,  for 
the  purpose  of  alienating  you  from  the  creed  of  your  fore- 
fathers." 

"It  is  false,"  replied  Reilly;  "false  if  it  proceeded  from 
the  lips  of  the  Pope  himself ;  and  if  his  lips  uttered  to  mo 
what  you  now  have  done,  I  would  fling  the  falsehood  in  his 
teeth,  as  I  do  now  in  yours, — yes,  if  my  life  should  pay 
the  forfeit  of  it.  What  have  you  to  do  with  my  private 
ooucerns  V 


WILLY   HE1LLY.  153 

Reilly's  indignant  and  impetuous  reply  to  the  prelate 
struck  all  who  heard  it  with  dismay,  and  also  with  horror, 
when  they  bethought  themselves  of  the  consequences. 

"You  are  a  heretic  at  heart,"  said  the  other,  knitting  his 
brows;  "from  your  own  language  you  stand  confessed — 
a  heretic." 

"I  know  not,"  replied  Reilly,  "by  what  right  or  au- 
thority you  adopt  this  ungentlemanly  and  illiberal  conduct 
towards  me ;  bat  so  long  as  your  language  applies  only  to 
myself  and  my  religion,  I  shall  answer  you  in  a  different 
spirit.  In  the  first  place,  then,  you  are  grievously  mistaken 
in  supposing  me  to  be  a  heretic.  I  am  true  and  faithful  to 
my  creed,  and  will  live  and  die  in  it." 

Father  Maguire  felt  relieved,  and  breathed  more  freely  ; 
a  groan  was  coming,  but  it  ended  in  a  "  hem." 

"  Before  we  proceed  any  farther,  sir,"  said  this  strange 
man,  "you  must  take  an  oath." 

"  For  what  purpose,  sir?"  inquired  Reilly. 

"  An  oath  of  secrecy  as  to  the  existence  of  this  place  of 

our  retreat.     There  are  at  present  here  some  of  the "  ha 

checked  himself,  as  if  afraid  to  proceed  farther.  "  In  fact, 
every  man  who  is  admitted  amongst  us  must  take  the 
oath." 

Reilly  looked  at  him  with  indignation.  "Surely," 
thought  he  to  himself,  "  this  man  must  be  mad ;  his  looks 
are  wild,  and  the  fire  of  insanity  is  in  his  eyes ;  if  not,  he  is 
nothing  less  than  an  incarnation  of  ecclesiastical  bigotry 
and  folly.  The  man  must  be  mad,  or  worse."  At  length 
lie  addressed  him : 

"  You  doubt  my  integrity  and  my  honour,  then,"  he  re- 
plied haughtily. 

"We  doubt  every  man,  until  he  is  bound  by  his  oath." 

"  You  must  continue  to  doubt  me  then,"  replied  Reilly  ; 
"  for,  most  assuredly,  I  will  not  take  it." 

"  You  must  take  it,  sir,"  said  the  other,  "or  you  never 
leave  the  cavern  which  covers  you,"  and  his  eyes  once 
more  blazed  as  he  uttered  the  words. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Reilly,  "  there  appear  to  be  fifteen  or 
sixteen  of  you  present :  may  I  be  permitted  to  ask  why 
you  suffer  this  unhappy  man  to  be  at  large  V 

"Will  you   take  the   oath,   sir  1"  persisted  the  insane 


134:  WILLY   REILLY. 

bishop,  in  a  voice  of  thunder — "  heretic  and  devil,  will  you 
take  the  oath  V 

"  Unquestionably  not.  I  will  never  take  any  oath  that 
would  imply  want  of  honour  in  myself.  Cease,  then,  to 
trouble  me  with  it.     I  shall  not  take  it." 

This  last  reply  affected  the  bishop's  reason  so  deeply, 
that  he  looked  about  him  strangely,  and  exclaimed,  "  We 
are  lost  and  betrayed.  But  here  are  angels — I  see  them 
and  will  join  in  their  blessed  society,"  and  as  he  spoke,  he 
rushed  towards  the  stalactites  in  a  manner  somewhat  wild 
and  violent,  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  from  an  apprehension 
of  his  receiving  injury  in  some  of  the  dark  interstices 
among  them,  they  found  it  necessary,  for  his  sake,  to 
grapple  with  him  for  a  few  moments. 

But,  alas !  they  had  very  little  indeed  to  grapple  with. 
The  man  was  but  a  shadow,  and  they  found  him  in  their 
hands  as  feeble  as  a  child.  He  made  no  resistance,  but  suf- 
fered himself  to  be  managed  precisely  as  they  wished. 
Two  of  the  persons  present  took  charge  of  him,  one  sitting 
on  each  side  of  him.  Eeilly,  who  looked  on  with  amaze- 
ment, now  strongly  blended  with  pity — for  the  malady  of 
the  unhappy  ecclesiastic  could  no  longer  be  mistaken — 
Eeilly,  we  say,  was  addressed  by  an  intelligent-looking  in- 
dividual, with  some  portion  of  the  clerical  costume  about  him. 
"  Alas !  sir,"  said  he,  "  it  was  not  too  much  learning,  but 
too  much  persecution,  that  has  made  him  mad.  That  and 
the  ascetic  habits  of  his  life  have  clouded  or  destroyed  a 
great  intellect  and  a  good  heart.  He  has  eaten  only  one 
sparing  meal  a-day,  during  the  last  month ;  and  though 
severe  and  self-denying  to  himself,  he  was,  until  the  last 
week  or  so,  like  a  father,  and  an  indulgent  one,  to  us  all." 

At  this  moment,  the  pale,  mild-looking  clergyman,,  to 
whom  we  have  alluded,  went  over  to  where  the  bishop  sat, 
and  throwing  himself  upon  his  bosom,  burst  into  tears. 
The  sorrow  indeed  became  infectious,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
there  were  not  many  dry  eyes  around  him.  Father 
Maguire,  who  was  ignorant  of  the  progressive  change  that 
had  taken  place  in  him  since  his  last  visit  to  the  cave,  now 
wept  like  a  child,  and  Reilly  himself,  experienced  some- 
thing that  amounted  to  remorse,  when  he  reflected  on  the 
irreverent  tone  of  voice  in  which  he  had  replied  to  him.. 


WILLY   REILLY.  155 

The  paroxysm,  however,  appeared  to  have  passed  away  ; 
he  was  quite  feeble,  but  not  properly  collected,  though  calm 
and  quiet.  After  a  little  time,  he  requested  to  be  put  to 
bed.  And  this  leads  us  to  the  description  of  another 
portion  of  the  cave,  to  which  we  have  not  yet  referred. 
At  the  upper  end  of  the  stalactite  apartment,  which  we 
have  already  described,  there  was  a  large  projection  of  rock, 
which  nearly  divided  it  from  the  other,  and  which  dis- 
charged the  office  of  a  wall,  or  partition,  between  the  two 
apartments.  Here  there  was  a  good  fire  kept,  but  only 
during  the  hours  of  night,  inasmuch  as  the  smoke  which 
issued  from  a  rent  or  cleft  in  the  top  of  this  apartment 
would  have  discovered  them  by  day.  Through  this  slight 
chasm,  which  was  strictly  concealed,  they  received  pro- 
visions, water,  and  fuel.  In  fact,  it  would  seem  as  if  the 
whole  cave  had  been  expressly  designed  for  the  purpose  to 
which  it  was  then  applied,  or,  at  least,  for  some  one  of  a 
similar  nature. 

On  entering  this,  Eeilly  found  a  good  fire,  on  which  was 
placed  a  large  pot  with  a  mess  in  it,  which  emitted  a  very 
savoury  odour.  Around  the  sides,  or  walls  of  this  rock, 
were,  at  least,  a  score  of  heather  shake-down  beds,  the 
fragrance  of  which  was  delicious.  Pots,  pans,  and  other 
simple  culinary  articles  were  there,  with  a  tolerable  stock 
of  provisions,  not  omitting  a  good-sized  keg  of  mountain 
dew,  which  their  secluded  position,  the  dampness  of  the 
place,  and  their  absence  from  free  air,  rendered  very 
necessary  and  gratifying. 

"  Here  1"  exclaimed  Father  Maguire,  after  the  feeble 
prelate  had  been  assisted  to  this  recess,  "here,  now,  put 
his  lordship  to  bed ;  I  have  tossed  it  up  for  him  in  great 
style  !  I  assure  you,  my  dear  friends,  it's  a  shake-down  fit 
for  a  prince  ! — and  better  than  most  of  the  thieves  deserve. 
What  bed  of  down  ever  had  the  sweet  fragrance  this 
ilowery  heather  sends  forth.  Here,  my  lord— easy,  now — 
lay  him  down  gently,  just  as  a  mother  would  her  sleeping 
child — for,  indeed,  he  is  a  child,"  he  whispered,  "  and  as 
weak  as  a  child  •  but  a  sound  sleep  will  do  him  good,  and 
he'll  be  a  new  man  in  the  morning,  please  God." 

Upon  this  rough,  but  wholesome  and  aromatic  couch, 
the  exhausted  prelate  was  placed,  where- he  had  not  been 


lt>0  WILLY   11EILLY. 

many  minutes  until  he  fell  into  a  profound  sleep,  a  fact 
which  gratified  them  very  much,  for  they  assured  Reilly 
and  the  priest,  that  he  had  slept  but  a  few  hours  each 
night,  during  the  last  week,  and  that  such  slumber  as  he 
did  get  was  feverish  and  unquiet. 

Our  good-humoured  friend,  however,  was  now  cordially 
welcomed  by  these  unfortunate  ecclesiastics,  for  such,  in 
fact,  the  majority  of  them  were.  His  presence  seemed  to 
them  like  a  ray  of  light  from  the  sun.  His  good  humour, 
his  excellent  spirits,  which  nothing  could  repress,  and  his 
drollery  kept  them  alive,  and  nothing  was  so  much 
regretted  by  them  as  his  temporary  absence  from  time  to 
time ;  for,  in  truth,  he  was  their  messenger,  their  steward, 
and  their  newsman,  in  fact  the  only  link  that  connected 
them  with  external  life,  and  the  ongoings  of  the  world 
abroad.  The  bed  in  which  the  bishop  now  slept  was  in  a 
distant  corner  of  this  inner  apartment,  or  dormitory,  as  it 
might  be  termed,  because  the  situation  was  higher  and 
drier,  and  consequently  more  healthy,  as  a  sleeping-place, 
than  any  other  which  the  rude  apartment  afforded.  The 
fire  on  which  the  large  pot  simmered  was  at  least  a  distance 
of  twenty-five  yards  from  his  bed,  so  that  they  could 
indulge  in  conversation  without  much  risk  of  disturbing 
him. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  Reiily  and  his  friend  Father 
Maguire  felt,  by  this  time,  a  tolerably  strong  relish  for 
something  in  the  shape  of  sustenance — a  relish  which  was 
exceedingly  sharpened  by  the  savoury  smell  sent  forth 
throughout  the  apartment  by  the  contents  of  whatsoever 
was  contained  in  the  immense  pot. 

"  My  dear  brethren,"  said  the  priest,  "  let  us  consider 
this  cavern  as  a  rich  monastery ;  such,  alas !  as  existed  in 
the  good  days  of  old,  when  the  larder  and  refectory  were  a 
credit  to  religion  and  a  relief  to  the  destitute,  but  which 

alas! — and  alas  !  again — we  can  only  think  of  as  a in 

the  meantime,  I  can  stand  this  no  longer.  If  I  possess 
judgment  or  penetration  in  re  culinaria,  I  am  of  opinion," 
lie  added  (stirring  up  the  contents  of  it),  "  that  it  is  fit  to 
be  operated  on ;  so,  in  God's  name  let  us  have  at  it." 

In  a  few  minutes,  two  or  three  immense  pewter  dishes 
were  heaped  with  a  stew  made  up  of  mutton,  bacon,  hung 


WILLY   REILLY.  157 

beef,  onions,  and  potatoes,  forming,  indeed,  a  most  delicious 
mess  for  any  man,  much  less  the  miserable  men  who  were 
making  it  disappear  so  rapidly. 

R-eilly,  the  very  picture  of  health,  after  maintaining  a 
pace  inferior  to  that  of  none,  although  there  were  decidedly 
some  handy  workmen  there,  now  was  forced  to  pull  up  and 
halt.  In  the  meantime  some  slow  but  steady  operations 
went  on  with  a  perseverance  that  was  highly  creditable ; 
and  it  was  now  that,  having  a  little  agreeable  leisure  to 
observe  and  look  about  him,  he  began  to  examine  the 
extraoi  dinary  costumes  of  the  incongruous  society  in  which, 
to  his  astonishment,  he  found  himself  a  party.  We  must 
however,  first  account  for  the  oddness  and  incongruity  of 
the  apparent  characters  which  they  were  forced  to  assume. 

At  this  period  the  Catholics  of  Ireland  were  indeed 
frightfully  oppressed.  A  proclamation  had  recently  been 
issued  by  the  Government,  who  dreaded,  or  pretended  to 
dread,  an  insurrection — by  which  document,  convents  and 
monasteries  were  suppressed — rewards  offered  for  the  de- 
tection and  apprehension  of  ecclesiastics,  and  for  the  punish- 
ment of  such  humane  magistrates  as  were  reluctant  to 
enforce  laws  so  unsparing  and  oppressive.  Increased  re- 
wards were  also  offered  to  spies  and  informers,  with  whom 
the  country  unfortunately  abounded.  A  general  disarming 
of  all  Catholics  took  place  ;  domiciliary  visits  were  made  in 
quest  of  bishops,  priests,  and  friars,  and  all  the  chapels  in 
the  country  were  shut  up.  Many  of  the  clergy  flew  to  the 
metropolis,  where  they  imagined  they  might  be  more  safe, 
and  a  vast  number  to  caverns  and  mountains,  in  order  to 
avoid  the  common  danger,  and  especially  from  a  wholesome 
terror  of  that  class  of  men  called  priest-hunters.  The 
Catholic  peasantry  having  discovered  their  clergy  in  these 
wild  retreats,  flocked  to  them  on  Sundays  and  festivals, 
in  order  to  join  in  private — not  public — worship,  and  to 
partake  of  the  rites  and  sacraments  of  their  Church. 

Such  was  the  state  of  the  country  at  the  period  when  the 
unfortunate  men,  whom  we  are  about  to  describe,  were 
pent  up  in  this  newly  discovered  cavern. 

Now,  Reilly  himself  was  perfectly  acquainted  with  all 
this,  and  knew  very  well  that  these  unhappy  men,  having 
been  frequently  compelled  to  put  on  the  first  disguise  that 


158  WILLY   REILLY. 

came  to  hand,  had  not  means,  nor  indeed  disposition,  to 
change  these  disguises,  unless  at  the  risk  of  being  recog- 
nised, taken  into  custody,  and  surrendered  to  the  mercy  of 
the  law. 

When  their  savoury  meal  was  concluded,  Father  Maguire, 
who  never  forgot  any  duty  connected  with  his  position — 
be  that  where  it  might — now  went  over  to  the  large  pot, 
exclaiming : 

"  It  would  be  too  bad,  my  friends,  to  forget  the  creatures 
here,  that  have  been  so  faithful  and  so  steady  to  us.  Poor 
things,  I  could  see,  by  the  way  they  fixed  their  longing 
eyes  upon  us  while  we  were  doing  the  handy-work  at  the 
stew,  that  if  the  matter  had  been  left  to  themselves,  not  a 
spoonful  ever  went  into  our  mouths  but  they'd  have 
practised  the  doctrine  of  tithe  upon.  Come,  darlings — 
here,  now,  is  a  little  race  for  you — every  one  of  you  seize 
a  spoon,  keep  a  hospitable  mouth,  and  a  supple  wrist. 
These  creatures,  Mr.  Eeilly,  are  so  many  little  brands 
plucked  out  of  the  burning.  They  are  the  children  of 
parents  who  suffered  for  their  faith,  and  were  brought  here 
to  avoid  being  put  into  these  new  traps  for  young  Catholics, 
called  Charter  Schools,  into  which  the  Government  wishes 
to  hook  in  our  rising  generation,  under  pretence  of  sup- 
porting and  educating  them;  but,  in  point  of  fact,  to 
alienate  them  from  the  affection  of  their  parents  and 
relations,  and  to  train  them  up  in  the  State  religion,  poor 
things.  At  all  events,  they  are  very  handy  to  us  here> 
for  they  slip  out  by  turns  and  bring  us  almost  everything 
we  want — and  not  one  of  them  ever  opened  his  lips  as  to 
the  existence  of  this  sjoelunca." 

The  meal  of  the  poor  things  was  abundant,  but  they  soon 
gave  over,  and  in  a  few  minutes  they  tumbled  themselves 
into  their  heather  beds,  and  were  soon  sunk  in  their 
innocent  slumbers. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,  that  we  have  eaten  a  better  meal  than 
we  could  expect  in  this  miserable  place,  thanks  to  the  kind- 
ness of  our  faithful  flocks,  what  do  you  think  of  a  sup  of 
what's  in  the  keg?  Good  eating  deserves  a  drop  of 
mixture  after  it,  to  aid  in  carrying  on  the  process  of 
digestion! — Father  Hennessy,  what  are  you  at?"  he  ex- 
claimed,  addressing  an  exceedingly  ill-looking  man,  with 


WILLY  REILLY.  159 

heavy  brows  and  a  sinister  aspect.  "  You  forget,  sir,  that 
the  management  of  the  keg  is  my  duty,  whenever  I  am 
here.  You  are  the  only  person  here  who  violates  our 
regulations  in  that  respect.  Walk  back  and  wait  till  you 
are  helped  like  another.  Do  you  call  that  being  spiritually 
inclined  1  If  so,  there  is  not  a  doubt  of  it  but  you  ought  to 
be  a  bishop  ;  and  if  you  come  to  that,  I'll  stake  my  credit 
on  it  that  you'll  never  let  much  wind  into  your  stomach  so 
long  as  you  can  get  plenty  of  the  solids  and  fluids  to  keep 
it  out." 

"I'm  weak  in  the  stomach,"  replied  Hennessy,  with  a 
sensual  grin,  "and  require  it." 

"But  1  say,"  replied  Father  Maguire,  "that  it  would  re- 
quire stronger  proof  than  any  your  outward  man  presents 
to  confirm  the  truth  of  that.  As  for  bearing  a  load  either 
of  the  liquids  or  solids  aforesaid,  I'll  back  your  bit  of 
abdomen  there  against  those  of  any  three  of  us." 

Cups  and  noggins,  and  an  indescribable  variety  of  small 
vessels  that  were  never  designed  for  drinking,  were  now 
called  into  requisition,  and  a  moderate  portion  of  the  keg- 
was  distributed  among  them.  Reilly,  while  enjoying  his 
cup,  which  as  well  as  the  others  he  did  with  a  good  deal  of 
satisfaction,  could  not  help  being  amused  by  the  comical 
peculiarity  of  their  disguises. 

The  sinister-looking  clergyman,  whom  we  have  named 
Hennessy,  subsequently  became  a  spy  and  informer,  and,  we 
may  add,  an  enemy  equally  formidable  and  treacherous  to 
the  Catholics  of  the  time,  in  consequence  of  having  been 
deprived  of  his  clerical  functions  by  his  bishop,  who  could 
not  overlook  his  immoral  and  irregular  conduct.  He  is 
mentioned  by  Matthew  O'Connor,  in  his  "  History  of  the 
Irish  Catholics,"  and  consigned  to  infamy  as  one  of  the 
greatest  scourges,  against  both  the  priesthood  and  the 
people,  that  ever  disgraced  the  country.  But  it  must  be 
admitted,  that  he  stands  out  in  dark  relief  against  the 
great  body  of  the  Catholic  priests  at  that  period,  whose 
firmness,  patience,  and  fidelity  to  their  trust,  places  them 
above  all  praise  and  all  suspicion.  It  is,  however,  very 
reasonable,  that  men  so  hunted  and  persecuted  should  be 
forced,  not  only  in  defence  of  their  own  lives  and  liberties, 
but    also  for  the  sake  of  their  flocks,  to  assume  such 


1G0  WILLY   KEILLV. 

costumes  as  might  most  effectually  disguise  them,  so  as 
that  they  would  be  able  still,  even  in  secret  and  by 
stealth,  to  administer  the  rites  of  their  religion  to  the 
poor  and  neglected  of  their  own  creed.  Some  were  dressed 
in  common  frieze,  some  in  servants'  cast-off  liveries — how- 
ever they  came  by  them — and  not  a  few  in  military 
uniform,  that  served,  as  it  were,  to  mark  them  staunch 
supporters  of  the  very  Government  that  persecuted  them. 
A  reverend  archdeacon,  somewhat  comely  and  corpulent, 
had,  by  some  means  or  other,  procured  the  garb  of  a 
recruiting  sergeant,  which  fiited  him  so  admirably  that  the 
illusion  was  complete ;  and  what  bore  it  out  still  more 
forcibly  was,  the  presence  of  a  smart-looking  little  friar, 
who  kept  the  sergeant  in  countenance  in  the  uniform  of  a 
drummer.  Mass  was  celebrated  every  day,  hymns  were 
sung,  and  prayers  offered  up  to  the  Almighty,  that  it 
might  please  Him  to  check  the  flood  of  persecution  which 
had  overwhelmed  or  scattered  them.  Still,  in  the  intervals 
of  devotion,  they  indulged  in  that  reasonable  cheerfulness 
and  harmless  mirth  which  were  necessary  to  support  their 
spirits,  depressed  as  they  must  have  been  by  this  dreadful 
and  melancholy  confinement — a  confinement  where  neither 
the  light  of  the  blessed  sun,  nor  the  fresh  breezes  of 
heaven,  nor  the  air  we  breathe,  in  its  usual  purity,  could 
reach  them.  Sir  Thomas  More  and  Sir  Walter  Raleigh, 
however,  were  cheerful  on  the  scaffold ;  and,  even  here,  as 
we  have  already  said,  many  a  rustic  tale  and  legend,  peculiar 
to  those  times,  went  pleasantly  round  ;  many  a  theological 
debate  took  place,  and  many  a  thesis  was  discussed,  in 
order  to  enable  the  unhappy  men  to  pass  away  the  tedious 
monotony  of  their  imprisonment  in  this  strange  lurking- 
place.  The  only  man  who  kept  aloof  and  took  no  part  in 
these  amusing  recreations  was  Hennessy,  who  seemed 
moody  aud  sullen,  but  who,  nevertheless,  was  frequently 
detected  in  making  stolen  visits  to  the  barrel. 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  however,  the  sight  was  a 
melancholy  one ;  and  whatever  disposition  Reilly  felt  to 
smile  at  what  he  saw  and  heard  was  instantly  changed  on 
perceiving  their  unaffected  piety,  which  was  evident  by 
their  manner,  and  a  rude  altar  in  a  remote  end  of  the  cave, 
w  hich  was  laid  out  night  and  day  for  the  purpose  of  cele- 


WILLY  REILLY.  1GI 

brating  the  ceremonies  and  mysteries  of  their  Church. 
Before  he  went  to  his  couch  of  heather,  however,  he  called 
-bather  Maguire  aside,  and  thus  addressed  him  : 

"  I  have  been  a  good  deal  struck  to-night,  my  friend,  by 
all  that  I  have  witnessed  in  this  singular  retreat.  The 
poor  prelate  I  pity  ;  and  I  regret  I  did  not  understand  him 
sooner.     His  mind,  I  fear,  is  gone." 

"Why,  I  didn't  understand  him  myself,"  replied  the 
priest;  "because  this  was  the  first  symptom  he  has  shown 
of  any  derangement  in  his  intellect,  otherwise  I  would  no 
more  have  contradicted  him  than  I  would  have  cut  my  left 
hand  off." 

"There  is,  however,  a  man — a  clergyman  here,  called 
Hennessy, — who  is  he,  and  what  has  been  his  life  I" 

"Why,"  replied  the  other,  "  I  have  heard  nothing  to  his 
disadvantage.  He  is  a  quiet,  and,  it  is  said,  a  pious  man — 
and  I  think  he  is,  too.  He  is  naturally  silent,  and  seldom 
takes  any  part  in  our  conversation.  He  says,  however, 
that  his  concealment  here  bears  hard  upon  him,  and  is 
depressing  his  spirits  every  day  more  and  more.  The  only 
thing  I  ever  could  observe  in  him  is  what  you  saw  yourself 
to-night — a  slight  relish  for  an  acquaintance  with  the 
barrel.  He  sometimes  drains  a  drop — indeed,  sometimes 
too  much — out  of  it,  when  he  gets  our  backs  turned  ;  but 
then  he  pleads  low  spirits  three  or  four  times  a-day — in- 
deed, so  often  that,  upon  my  word,  he'il  soon  have  the 
barrel  pleading  the  same  complaint." 

"  Well,"  replied  Reilly,  after  listening  attentively  to  him, 
"  I  desire  you  and  your  friends  to  watch  that  man  closely. 
I  know  something  about  him ;  and  I  tell  you  that  if  ever 
the  laws  become  more  lenient,  the  moment  this  man  makes 
his  appearance  his  bishop  will  deprive  him  of  all  spiritual 
jurisdiction  for  life.  Mark  me  now,  Father  Maguire  ;  if  he 
pleads  any  necessity  for  leaving  this  retreat  and  going 
abroad  again  into  the  world,  don't  let  a  single  individual  of 
you  remain  here  one  hour  after  him.  Provide  for  your 
safety  and  your  shelter  elsewhere,  as  well  as  you  can ;  if 
not,  the  worst  consequences  may — nay,  will  follow." 

The  priest  promised  to  communicate  this  intelligence  to 
his  companions,  one  by  one;  after  which,  both  he  and 
lieilly,  feeling  fatigued  and  exhausted  by  what  they  had 

L 


162  WILLY  REILLY. 

undergone  in  the  course  of  the  night,  threw  themselves 
each  upon  his  couch  of  heather,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
not  only  they,  but  all  their  companions  were  sunk  in  deep 
sleep. 


CHAPTER  XL 


THE    SQUIRES  DINNER  AND  HIS  GL'ESTS. 


:tz 


TS 


F^7E  now  return  to  Cooleen  Bawn,  who,  after  her 
1  separation  from  Reilly,  retired  to  her  own  room, 
where  she  indulged  in  a  paroxysm  of  deep  grief, 
in  consequence  of  her  apprehension  that  she  might  never 
see  him  again.  She  also  calculated  upon  the  certainty  of 
Being  obliged  to  sustain  a  domestic  warfare  with  her  father, 
as  the  result  of  having  made  him  the  confidant  of  her  love. 
In  this,  however,  she  was  agreeably  disappointed ;  for,  on 
meeting  him  the  next  morning,  at  breakfast,  she  was  a 
good  deal  surprised  to  observe  that  he  made  no  allusion 
whatsoever  to  the  circumstance — if,  indeed,  an  occasional 
muttering  of  some  unintelligible  words,  sotto  voce,  might  not 
be  supposed  to  allude  to  it.  The  truth  was,  the  old  man 
found  the  promise  he  had  made  to  Sir  Robert  one  of  such 
difficulty  to  his  testy  and  violent  disposition,  that  his 
language,  and  the  restraint  which  he  felt  himself  under  the 
necessity  of  putting  on  it,  rendered  his  conversation  rather 
ludicrous. 

"  Well,  Helen/5  he  said,  on  entering  the  breakfast-parlour, 
"  how  did  you  rest  last  night,  my  love  1  Rested  sound — 
eh  %   But  you  look  rather  pale,  darling.    (Hang  the  rascal.)" 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  slept  as  well  as  usual,  sir.  I  felt 
headache." 

"  Ay,  headache — was  it  1  (Heartache,  rather.  The  vil- 
lain.) Well,  come,  let  me  have  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  mouthful 
of  that  toast." 

"  Will  you  not  have  some  chicken,  sir?" 

"No,  my  dear — no;  just  what  I  said — a  mouthful  of 
toast,  and  a  cup  of  tea,  with  plenty  of  cream  in  it.  Thank 
you,  love.     (A  good  swing  for  him  will  be  delightful.     I'll 


WILLY  REILLY.  1G3 

go  to  see  it.)  Helen,  my  dear,  I'm  going  to  give  a  dinner 
party  next  week.  Of  course  we'll  have  your  future — hem 
— I  mean,  we'll  have  Sir  Kobert,  and — let  me  see — who 
e'se  ?  Why,  Oxley,  the  sheriff,  Mr.  Brown,  the  parson— I 
wish  he  didn't  lean  so  much  to  the  cursed  Papists,  though 
— Mr.  Hastings,  who  is  tarred  with  the  same  stick,  it  is 
whispered.  Well,  who  next?  Lord  Deilmacare,  a  good- 
natured  jackass — a  fellow  who  would  eat  a  jacketful  of 
carrion,  if  placed  before  him,  with  as  much  gout  as  if  it 
were  venison.  He  went  home  one  night,  out  of  this,  with 
the  parson's  outside  coat  and  shovel  hat  upon  him,  and  did 
not  return  them  for  two  days." 

"Does  this  habit  proceed  from  stupidity,  papa?" 
"  Not  at  all ;  but  from  mere  carelessness.  The  next  two 
days  he  was  out  with  his  labourers,  and  if  a  cow  or  pig 
chanced — (the  villain!  we'll  hang  him  to  a  certainty) — 
chanced,  I  say,  to  stray  into  the  field,  he  would  shy  the 
shovel  hat  at  them,  without  remorse.  Oh !  we  must  have 
him,  by  all  means.  But  who  next?  Sir  Jenkins  Joram. 
Give  him  plenty  to  drink,  and  he  is  satisfied." 
"  But  what  are  his  political  principles,  papa  ¥ 
"  They  are  to  be  found  in  the  bottle,  Helen,  which  is  the 
only  creed,  political  or  religious,  to  which  I  ever  knew  him 
to  be  attached ;  aud  I  tell  you,  girl,  that  if  every  Protestant 
in  Ireland  were  as  deeply  devoted  to  his  Church  as  he  is 
to  the  bottle,  we  would  soon  be  a  happy  people,  uncor- 
rupted  by  treacherous  scoundrels,  who  privately  harbour 
Papists-,  and  foster  Popery  itself.  (The  infernal  scoundrel.)" 
"But,  papa,"  replied  his  daughter,  with  a  melancholy 
smile,  "  I  think  I  know  some  persons  who,  although  very 
loud  and  vehement  in  their  outcry  against  Popery,  have, 
nevertheless,  on  more  than  one  or  two  occasions,  harboured 
Papists  in  their  house  and  concealed  even  priests,  when  the 
minions  of  the  law  were  in  search  of  them." 

"  Yes,  and  it  is  of  this  cursed  crew  of  hollow  Protestants 
that  I  now  speak — ahem— ay — ha — well,  what  the  devil — 
hem.  To  be  sure  I — I — I — but  it  doesn't  signify;  we 
can't  be  wise  at  all  times.  But  after  all,  Helen,  (^he  has 
me  there,)  after  all,  I  say,  there  are  some  good  Papists,  and 
some  good — ahem — priests,  too.  There  now,  I've  got  it 
out.     However,  Helen,  those  foolish  days  are  gone,  and  we 


164  WILLY  REILLY. 

have  nothing  for  it  now  but  to  hunt  Popery  out  of  the 
country.     But  to  proceed  as  to  the  dinuer." 

"  I  think  Popery  is  suffering  enough,  sir,  and  more  than 
enough." 

"  Ho,  ho,"  he  exclaimed,  with  triumph,  "  here  comes  the 
next  on  my  list — a  fine  fellow,  who  will  touch  it  up  still 
more  vigorously — I  mean  Captain  Smellpriest." 

"  I  have  heard  of  that  inhuman  man,"  replied  Helen ; 
"I  wish  you  would  not  ask  him,  papa.  I  am  told  he 
equals  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  in  both  cowardice  and  cruelty. 
Is  not  that  a  nickname  he  has  got  in  consequence  of  his 
activity  in  pursuit  of  the  unfortunate  priests  V* 

"It's  a  nickname  he  has  given  himself,"  replied  her 
father,  "  and  he  has  become  so  proud  of  it  that  he  will 
allow  himself  to  be  called  by  no  other.  He  swears  that  if 
a  priest  gets  on  the  windy  side  of  him,  he  will  scent  him 
as  a  hound  would  a  fox.  Oh!  by  my  honour,  Smellpriest 
must  be  here.  The  scoundrel,  like  Whitecraft ! — eh — what 
am  I  saying1? — Smellpriest,  I  say,  first  began  his  career  as 
a  friend  to  the  Papists;  he  took  large  tracts  of  land  in 
their  name,  and  even  purchased  a  couple  of  estates  with 
their  money ;  and  in  due  time,  according  as  the  tide  con- 
tinued to  get  strong  against  them,  he  thought  the  best  plan 
to  cover  his  villany — ahem — his  policy,  I  mean — was  to 
come  out  as  a  fierce  loyalist :  and  as  a  mark  of  his  repent- 
ance, he  claimed  the  property,  as  the  real  purchaser,  and 
arrested  those  who  were  fools  enough  to  trust  him." 

"  I  think  I  know  another  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance 
who  holds  property  in  some  similar  trust  for  Papists,"  ob- 
served Helen,  "but  who  certainly  is  incapable  of  imitating 
the  villany  of  that  most  unprincipled  man." 

"  Come,  come,  Helen ;  come,  my  girl ;  tut — ahem;  come, 
you  are  getting  into  politics  now,  and  that  will  never  do. 
A  girl  like  you  ought  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  politics 
or  religion." 

"Keligion !  papa." 

"  Oh — hem — I  don't  mean  exactly  that.  Oh,  no ;  I 
except  religion ;  a  girl  may  be  as  religious  as  she  pleases, 
only  she  must  say  as  little  upon  the  subject  as  possible. 
Come,  another  cup  of  tea,  with  a  little  more  sugar,  for,  I 
give  you  my  honour,  you  did  not  make  the  last  one  of  the 


WILLY  REILLY.  1C3 

sweetest;"  and  so  saying,  he  put  over  his  cup  with  a 
grimace,  which  resembled  that  of  a  man  detected  in  a  bad 
action,  instead  of  a  good  one. 

At  this  moment,  John  the  butler  came  in  with  a  plate  of 
hot  toast;  and,  as  he  was  a  privileged  old  man,  he  ad- 
dressed his  master  without  much  hesitation. 

"That  was  a  quare  business,"  he  observed,  using  the 
word  quare  as  an  equivocal  one,  until  he  should  see  what 
views  of  the  circumstance  his  master  might  take ;  "  a  quare 
business,  sir,  that  happened  to  Mr.  Reilly." 

"  What  business  do  you  allude  to,  you  old  sinner  V 

"The  burning  of  his  house  and  place,  sir.  All  he  has, 
or  had,  is  in  a  heap  of  ashes." 

Helen  felt  not  for  the  burning,  but  her  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  features  of  the  old  man,  as  if  the  doom  of  her  life 
depended  on  his  words;  whilst  the  paper  on  which  we 
write  is  not  whiter  than  were  her  cheeks. 

"What — what — how  was  it]"  asked  his  master;  "who 
did  it? — and  by  whose  authority  was  it  doner 

"  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  and  his  men  did  it,  sir." 

"Ay,  but  I  can't  conceive  he  had  any  authority  for  such 
an  act." 

"  Wasn't  Mr.  Reilly  an  outlaw,  sir.  Didn't  the  Red 
Rapparee,  who  is  now  a  good  Protestant,  swear  insurrection 
against  him  ?" 

'•The  red  devil,  sirra,"  replied  the  old  squire,  forgetting 
his  animosity  to  Reilly  in  the  atrocity  and  oppression  of 
the  deed — "the  red  devil,  sirra!  would  that  justify  such  a 
cowardly  scoundrel  as  Sir  Rob — eh? — ugh — ugh — ugj?. — 
that  went  against  my  breath,  Helen.  Well,  come  here,  I 
say,  you  old  sinner  ;  they  burned  the  place,  you  say  V 

"  Sir  Robert  and  his  men  did,  sir." 

"  I'm  not  doubting  that,  you  old  houseleek.  I  know  Sir 
Robert  too  well — I  know  the  infernal — ahem;  a  most 
excellent  loyal  gentleman,  with  two  or  three  fine  estates, 
both  here  and  in  England ;  but  he  prefers  living  here,  for 
reasons  best  known  to  himself,  and  me,  and — and  to  some- 
body else.  Well,  they  burned  Reilly  out — but  tell  me 
this :  did  they  catch  the  rascal  himself  ?  eh  1  here's  five 
pounds  for  you,  if  you  can  say  they  have  him  safe." 

"That's  rather  a  loose  bargain,  your  honour,"  replied 


1G6  WILLY  REILLY. 

the  man  with  a  smile,  "for  saying  It  1 — why,  what's  to 
prevent  me  from  saying  it,  if  I  wished  f 

"  None  of  your  mumping,  you  old  snapdragon ;  but  tell 
me  the  truth,  have  they  secured  him  hard  and  fast  ]" 

"  No,  sir,  he  escaped  them,  and  as  report  goes,  they  know 
nothing  about  him,  except  that  they  haven't  got  him." 

Deep  and  speechless  was  the  agony  in  which  Helen  sat 
during  this  short  dialogue,  her  eyes  having  never  once 
been  withdrawn  from  the  butler's  countenance;  but  now 
that  she  had  heard  of  her  lover's  personal  safety,  a  thick 
smothered  sob,  which,  if  it  were  to  kill  her,  she  could  not 
repress,  burst  from  her  bosom.  Unwilling  that  either  her 
father  or  the  servant  should  witness  the  ecstasy  which  she 
could  not  conceal,  and  feeling  that  another  minute  would 
disclose  the  delight  which  convulsed  her  heart  and  fram^, 
she  arose,  and,  with  as  much  composure  as  she  could 
assume,  went  slowly  out  of  the  room.  On  entering  her 
apartment,  she  signed  to  her  maid  to  withdraw,  after 
which  she  closed  and  bolted  the  door,  and  wept  bitterly. 
The  poor  girl's  emotion,  in  fact,  was  of  a  twofold  character : 
she  wept  with  joy  at  Reilly's  escape  from  the  hands  of  his 
cruel  and  relentless  enemy,  and  with  bitter  grief  at  the 
impossibility  which  she  thought  there  existed,  that  he 
should  ultimately  be  able  to  keep  out  of  the  meshes  which 
she  knew  Whitecraft  would  spread  for  him.  The  tears, 
however,  which  she  shed  abundantly,  in  due  time  relieved 
her,  and  in  the  course  of  an  hour  or  two  she  was  able  to 
appear  as  usual  in  the  family. 

The  reader  may  perceive,  that  her  father,  though  of  an 
abrupt  and  cynical  temper,  was  not  a  man  naturally  of  a 
bad  or  unfeeling  heart.  Whatever  mood  of  temper  chanced 
to  be  uppermost  influenced  him  for  the  time ;  and  indeed 
it  might  be  said,  that  one-half  of  his  feelings  were  usually 
in  a  state  of  conflict  with  the  other.  In  matters  of  busi- 
ness, he  was  the  very  soul  of  integrity  and  honour,  but  in 
his  views  of  public  affairs  he  was  uncertain  and  incon- 
sistent; and  of  course  his  whole  life,  as  a  magistrate  and 
public  man,  was  a  perpetual  series  of  contradictions.  The 
consequence  of  all  this  was,  that  he  possessed  but  small 
influence,  as  arising  from  his  personal  character ;  but  not 
so  from  his  immense  property,  as  well  as  from  the  fact  that 


WILLY.  REILLY.  167 

he  was  father  to  the  wealthiest  and  most  beautiful  heiress 
in  the  province,  or  perhaps,  so  far  as  beauty  was  concerned, 
in  the  kingdom  itself. 

At  length,  the  day  mentioned  for  the  dinner  arrived, 
and,  at  the  appointed  hour,  so  also  did  the  guests.  There 
were  some  ladies  asked  to  keep  Helen  in  countenance,  but 
we  need  scarcely  say,  that  as  the  list  of  them  was  made  out 
by  her  thoughtless  father,  he  paid  in  the  selection  of  some 
of  them,  very  little  attention  to  her  feelings.  There  was 
the  sheriff,  Mr.  Oxley,  and  his  lady — the  latter  a  compound 
in  whom  it  was  difficult  to  determine  whether  pride,  vul- 
garity, or  obesity  prevailed.  Where  the  sheriff  had  made 
his  capture  of  her  was  never  properly  known,  as  neither  of 
them  belonged  originally  to  that  neighbourhood,  in  which 
he  had,  several  years  ago,  purchased  large  property.  It 
was  said,  he  had  got  her  in  London ;  and  nothing  was 
more  certain,  than  that  she  issued  forth  the  English 
language  clothed  in  an  inveterate  Cockney  accent.  She 
was  a  high  moralist,  and  a  merciless  castigator  of  all 
females,  who  manifested,  or  who  were  supposed  to  manifest, 
even  a  tendency  to  walk  out  of  the  line  of  her  own  peculiar 
theory  on  female  conduct.  Her  weight  might  be  about 
eighteen  stone,  exclusive  of  an  additional  stone  of  gold 
chains  and  bracelets,  in  which  she  moved  like  a  walking 
gibbet,  only  with  the  felon  in  it ;  and  to  crown  all,  she 
wore  upon  her  mountainous  bosom  a  cameo  nearly  the  size 
of  a  frying-pan.  Sir  Jenkins  Joram,  who  took  her  down 
to  dinner,  declared,  on  feeling  the  size  of  the  bracelets 
which  encircled  her  wrists,  that  he  laboured  for  a  short 
time  under  the  impression  that  he  and  she  were  literally 
hand-cuffed  together ;  an  impression,  he  added,  from  which 
he  was  soon  relieved  by  the  consoling  reflection,  that  it 
was  the  sheriff  himself  whom  the  clergyman  had  sentenced 
to  stand  in  that  pleasant  predicament.  Of  Mrs.  Brown 
and  Mrs.  Hastings  we  have  only  to  say,  that  they  were 
modest,  sensible,  unassuming  women,  without  either  parade 
or  pretence,  such,  in  fact,  as  you  will  generally  meet  among, 
our  well-bred  and  educated  countrywomen.  Lord  Deilma- 
care  was  a  widower,  without  family,  and  not  a  marrying 
man.  Indeed  when  pressed  upon  this  subject,  he  was 
never  known  to  deviate  from  the  one  reply. 


163  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  Why  don't  you  marry  again,  my  lord  1 — will  you  ever 
marry  ¥' 

u  No,  madam,  I  got  enough  of  it,"  a  reply  which,  some- 
how, generally  checked  any  further  inquiry  on  the  subject. 
Between  Lady  Joram  and  Mrs.  Smellprie3t  there  subsisted 
a  singular  analogy  with  respect  to  their  conjugal  attach- 
ments. It  was  hinted  that  her  ladyship,  in  those  secret 
but  delicious  moments  of  matrimonial  felicity  which  make 
up  the  sugar-candy  morsels  of  domestic  life,  used  to  sit 
with  Sir  Jenkins  for  the  purpose,  by  judicious  exercise,  of 
easing,  by  convivial  exercise,  a  rheumatic  affection  which 
she  complained  of  in  her  right  arm.  There  is  nothing, 
however,  so  delightful  as  a  general  and  loving  sympathy 
between  husband  and  wife  •  and  here  it  was  said  to  exist 
in  perfection.  Mrs.  Smellpriest,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
said  to  have  been  equally  attached  to  the  political  principles 
of  the  noble  captain;  and  to  wonder  why  any  clergyman 
should  be  suffered  to  live  in  the  country  but  those  of  her 
own  Church;  such  delightful  men,  for  instance,  as  their 
curate,  the  Rev.  Samson  Strong,  who  was  nothing  more 
nor  less  than  a  divine  bonfire  in  the  eyes  of  the  Curistian 
world.  Such  was  his  zeal  against  Papists,  she  said,  as  well 
as  against  Popery  at  large,  that  she  never  looked  on  him 
without  thinking  that  there  was  a  priest  to  be  burned. 
Indeed  Captain  Smellpriest,  she  added,  was  under  great 
obligations  to  him,  for  no  sooner  had  his  Reverence  heard 
of  a  priest  taking  earth  in  the  neighbourhood,  than  he  lost 
no  time  in  communicating  the  fact  to  her  husband ;  after 
which  he  would  kindly  sit  with  and  comfort  her  whilst 
fretting  lest  any  mischief  might  befall  her  dear  captain. 

The  dinner  passed  as  all  dinners  usually  do.  They 
hobnobbed,  of  course,  and  indulged  in  that  kind  of  promis- 
cuous conversation  which  cannot  well  be  reported.  From 
a  feeling  of  respect  to  Helen,  no  allusion  was  made  either 
to  the  burning  of  Reilly's  property  or  to  Reilly  personally. 
The  only  person  who  had  any  difficulty  in  avoiding  the 
subject  was  the  old  squire  himself,  who  more  than  once 
found  the  topic  upon  his  lips,  but  with  a  kind  of  short 
cough  he  gulped  it  down,  and  got  rid  of  it  for  the  time. 
In  what  manner  he  might  treat  the  act  itself  was  a  matter 
which  excited  a  good  deal  of  speculation  in  the  minds  of 


WILLY  REILLY.  169 

those  who  were  present.  He  was  known  to  be  a  man  who, 
if  the  whim  seized  him  to  look  upon  it  as  a  cowardly  and 
vindictive  proceeding,  would  by  no  means  scruple  to  ex- 
press his  opinions  strongly  against  it ;  whilst,  on  the  other 
hand,  if  he  measured  it  in  connexion  with  his  daughter's 
forbidden  attachment  to  Reilly,  he  would,  of  course,  as 
vehemently  express  his  approbation  of  the  outrage.  In- 
deed, they  were  induced  to  conclude  that  this  latter  view 
of  it  was  that  which  he  was  most  likely  to  take,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  following  proposal,  which,  from  any  other 
man,  would  have  been  an  extraordinary  one  : 

"  Come,  ladies,  before  you  leave  us  we  must  have  one 
toast ;  and  I  shall  give  it  in  order  to  ascertain  whether  we 
have  any  fair  traitresses  among  us,  or  any  who  are  secretly 
attached  to  Popery  or  Papists." 

The  proposal  was  a  cruel  one,  but  the  squire  was  so 
utterly  destitute  of  consideration  or  delicacy  of  feeling, 
that  we  do  not  think  he  ever  once  reflected  upon  the  pain- 
ful position  in  which  it  placed  his  daughter. 

11  Come,"  he  proceeded,  "  here  is  prosperity  to  Captain 
Smell  priest  and  priest-hunting  !"  * 

"As  a  Christian  minister,"  replied  Mr.  Brown,  "and  an 
enemy  to  persecution  in  every  sense,  but  especially  to  that 
which  would  punish  any  man  for  the  great  principle  whicii 
we  ourselves  claim — the  rights  of  conscience — I  decline  to 
drink  the  toast;"  and  he  turned  down  his  glass. 

"And  I,"  said  Mr.  Hastings,  "as  a  Protestant  and  a 
Christian,  refuse  it  on  the  same  principles;"  and  he  also 
turned  down  his  glass. 

*  We  have  been  charged  by  an  able  and  accomplished  writer  with 
an  incapacity  of  describing,  with  truth,  any  state  of  Irish  society 
above  that  of  our  peasantry;  and  tha  toast  proposed  by  the  eccentric 
old  squire  is,  we  presume,  the  chief  ground  upon  which  this  charge 
is  rested.  We  are,  however,  just  as  well  aware  as  our  critic,  that  to 
propose  toasts  before  the  female  p  >rtio  i  of  the  company  leave  the 
dinner-table,  is  altogether  at  variance  with  the  usages  of  polite 
society.  But  we  really  thought  we  had  guarded  our  readers  against 
any  such  inference  of  our  own  ignorance  by  the  character  which  we 
had  drawn  of  the  squire,  as  well  as  by  the  words  with  which  the 
toast  is  introduced — where  we  said,  "from  any  other  man  would 
have  been  an  extraordinary  one."  I  may  also  refer  to  Mrs.  Brown's 
reply. 


170  WILLY   REILL7. 

"But  you  forget,  gentlemen," proceeded  the  squire,  "that 
I  addressed  myself  principally  to  the  ladies." 

"  But  you  know,  sir,"  replied  Mrs.  Brown,  with  a  smile, 
"  that  it  is  quite  unusual  and  out  of  character  for  ladies  to 
drink  toasts  at  all,  especially  those  which  involve  religious 
or  political  opinions.  These,  I  am  sure,  you  know  too  well, 
Mr.  Folliard,  are  matters  with  which  ladies  have,  and 
ought  to  have,  nothing  to  do.  I  also,  therefore,  on  behalf 
of  our  sex,  decline  to  drink  the  toast;  and,  I  trust,  that 
every  lady  who  respects  herself  will  turn  down  her  glass  as 
I  do." 

Mrs.  Hastings  and  Helen  immediately  followed  her  ex- 
ample, whilst  at  the  same  time,  poor  Helen's  cheeks  and 
neck  were  scarlet. 

"  You  see,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  good-humouredly,  "  that 
the  sex — at  least  one-half  of  them — are  against  you." 

"That's  because  they're  Papists  at  heart,"  replied  the 
squire,  laughing. 

Helen  felt  eased  at  seeing  her  father's  good  humour,  for 
she  now  knew  that  the  proposal  of  the  toast  was  but  a  jest, 
and  did  not  aim  at  anything  calculated  to  distress  her  feelings. 

"But,  in  the  meantime,"  proceeded  the  squire,  "I  am 
not  without  support.  Here  is  Lady  Joram,  and  Mrs. 
Smellpriest,  and  Mrs.  Oxley — and  they  are  a  host  in  them- 
selves— each  of  them  willing  and  ready  to  support  me." 

"  I  don't  see/'  said  Lady  Joram,  "  why  a  lady;  any  more 
than  a  gentleman,  should  refuse  to  drink  a  proper  toast  as 
this  is;  Sir  Jenkins  has  not  turned  down  his  glass,  and 
neither  shall  I.  Come  then,  Mr.  Folliard,  please  to  fill 
mine ;   I  shall  drink  it  in  a  bumper." 

"And  I,"  said  Mrs.  Oxley,  "always  drinks  my  'usband's 
principles.  In  Lunnon,  where  true  'igh  life  is,  ladies  don't 
refuse  to  drink  toasts.  I  know  that  feyther,  both  before 
and  after  his  removal  to  Lunnon,  used  to  make  us  all 
drink  the  '  'Ardware  of  Old  Hingland' — by  witch,"  she  pro- 
ceeded, correcting  herself  by  a  reproving  glance  from  the 
sheriff—"  by  witch  he  meant  what  he  called  the  glorious 
sinews  of  the  country  at  large,  Iestwise  in  the  manufacturing 
districts.  But  upon  a  subject  like  this" — and  she  looked 
with  something  like  disdain  at  those  who  had  turned  down 
their  glasses — "every  lady  as  is  a  lady  ought  to  'ave  no 


tVILLY  REILLY.  171 

objection  to  hexplain  her  principles  by  drinking  the  toast : 
but  p'raps  it  ain't  fair  to  press  it  upon  some  of  'em." 

"Well,  then,"  proceeded  the  squire,  with  a  laugh  that 
seemed  to  have  more  than  mirth  in  it — "  are  all  the  loyal 
subjects  of  the  Crown  ready?  Lord  Deilmacare,  your  glass 
is  not  filled ;  won't  you  drink  it  V 

"  To  be  sure,"  replied  his  lordship,  "  I  have  no  hatred 
against  Papists ;  I  get  my  rent  by  their  labour ;  but  I 
never  wish  to  spoil  sport — get  along — I'll  do  anything." 

With  the  exceptions  already  mentioned,  the  toast  was 
drank  immediately,  after  which  the  ladies  retired  to  the 
drawing-room. 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  said  the  squire,  "fill  your  glasses, 
and  let  us  enjoy  ourselves.  You  have  a  right  to  be  proud 
of  your  wife,  Mr.  Sheriff,  and  you  too,  Sir  Jenkins — for 
upon  my  soul,  if  it  had  been  his  Majesty's  health,  her  lady- 
ship couldn't  have  honoured  it  with  a  fuller  bumper.  And 
Smellpriest,  your  wife  did  the  thing  handsomely  as  well  as 
the  rest.  Upon  my  soul  you  ought  to  be  happy  men,  with 
three  women  so  deeply  imbued  with  the  true  spirit  of  our 
glorious  Constitution." 

"Ah,  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  Smellpriest,  " you  don't  know 
the  value  of  that  woman.  When  I  return,  for  instance, 
after  a  hunt,  the  first  question  she  puts  to  me  is — Well, 
my  love,  how  many  priests  did  you  catch  to-day]  And 
out  comes  Mr.  Strong  with  the  same  question.  Strong, 
however,  between  ourselves,  is  a  goose ;  he  will  believe 
anything ;  and  often  sends  me  upon  a  cold  trail.  Now  I 
pledge  you  my  honour,  gentlemen,  that  this  man,  who  is 
all  zeal,  has  sent  me  out  dozens  of  times,  with  the  strictest 
instructions  as  to  where  I'd  catch  my  priest,  but  hang  me, 
if  ever  I  caught  a  single  priest  upon  his  instructions  yet ! 
still,  although  unfortunate  in  this  kind  of  sport,  his  heart 
is  in  the  right  place.  Whitecraft,  my  worthy  brother 
sportsman,  how  does  it  happen  that  Keilly  continues  to 
escape  you  ]" 

"  Why  does  he  continue  to  escape  yourself,  captain  V  re- 
plied the  baronet. 

"  Why,"  said  the  other,  "  because  I  am  more  in  the 
ecclesiastical  line,  and  besides,  he  is  considered  to  be,  in  an 
especial  manner,  your  game." 


172  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  I  will  have  him  yet,  though,"  said  Whitecraffc,  "  if  he 
should  assume  as  many  shapes  as  Proteus." 

"  By  the  way,  Whitecral t,"  observed  Folliard,  "  they  tell 

me  you  burned  the  unfor you  burned  the  scoundrel's 

house  and  offices." 

"I  wish  you  had  been  present  at  the  bonfire,  sir,"  replied 
his  intended  son-in-law;  "it  would  have  done  your  heart 
good." 

"I  dare  say,"  said  the  squire;  "but  still  what  harm  did 
his  house  and  place  do  you  1  I  know  the  fellow  is  a  Jesuit, 
a  rebel,  and  an  outlaw — at  least  you  teil  me  so ;  and  you 
must  know.  But  upon  what  authority  did  you  burn  the 
rascal  out]" 

"  As  to  that,"  returned  the  baronet,  "  the  present  laws 
against  Popery  and  the  general  condition  of  the  times  are 
a  sufficient  justification ;  and  I  do  not  think  that  I  am 
likely  to  be  brought  over  the  coals  for  it:  on  the  contrary 
1  look  upon  myself  as  a  man  who,  in  burning  the  villain 
out,  have  rendered  a  very  important  service  to  Govern- 
ment." 

"  I  regret,  Sir  Robert,"  observed  Mr.  Brown,  "  that  you 
should  have  disgraced  yourself  by  such  an  oppressive  act. 
I  know  that  throughout  the  country  your  conduct  to  this 
young  man  is  attributed  to  personal  malice  rather  than  to 
loyalty." 

"The  country  may  put  what  construction  on  my  con- 
duct it  pleases,"  he  replied,  "but  I  know  I  shall  never 
cease  till  I  hang  him." 

Mr.  Hastings  was  a  man  of  very  few  words ;  but  he  had 
an  eye  the  expression  of  which  could  not  be  mistaken — 
keen,  manly^  and  firm.  He  sat  sipping  his  wine  in  silence, 
but  turned,  from  time  to  time,  a  glance  upon  the  baronet, 
which  was  not  only  a  searching  one,  but  seemed  to  have 
something  of  triumph  in  it. 

"What  do  you  say,  Hastings?"  asked  Whitecraft,  "can 
you  not  praise  a  loyal  subject,  man  V 

"I  say  nothing,  Sir  Robert,"  he  replied;  "  but  I  think 
occasionally." 

"  Well,  and  what  do  you  think  occasionally  V' 

"  Why,  that  the  times  may  change." 

"Whitecraft,"  said  Smellpriest,   "I   work  upon  higher 


WILLY  REILLY.  173 

principles  than  they  say  you  do.  I  hunt  priests,  no  doubt 
of  it ;  but  then  I  have  no  personal  malice  against  them ;  I 
proceed  upon  the  broad  and  general  principle  of  hatred  to 
Popery  :  but,  at  the  same  time,  observe  it  is  not  the  man 
but  the  priest  I  pursue." 

"And  when  you  hang  or  transport  the  priest,  what  be- 
comes of  the  man  %"  asked  the  baronet,  with  a  diabolical 
sneer.  "  As  for  me,  Smellpriest,  I  make  no  such  distinc- 
tions; they  are  unworthy  of  you,  and  I'm  sorry  to  hear  you 
express  them.     I  say,  the  man." 

'*  And  I  say,  the  priest,"  replied  the  other. 

"  What  do  you  say,  my  lord  V  asked  Mr.  Folliard  of  the 
peer. 

"I  don't  much  care  which,"  replied  his  lordship;  "  man 
or  priest,  be  it  as  you  can  determine  ;  only  I  say  that  when 
you  hang  the  priest,  I  agree  with  Whitecraft  there,  that 
it  is  all  up  with  the  man,  and  when  you  hang  the  man,  it 
is  all  up  with  the  priest.  By  the  way,  Whitecraft,"  he 
proceeded,  "  how  would  you  like  to  swing  yourself  V 

" 1  am  sure,  my  lord,"  replied  the  baronet,  "you  wouldn't 
wish  to  see  me  hanged." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know — perhaps  I  might,  and  perhaps  I 
might  not;  but  I  know  you  would  make  a  long  corpse,  and 
I  think  you  would  dangle  handsomely  enough ;  you  have 
long  limbs,  a  long  body,  and  half  a  mile  of  neck;  upon 
my  soul  one  would  think  you  were  made  for  it.  Yes, 
I  dare  say  I  should  like  to  see  you  hanged — I  am  rather 
inclined  to  think  I  would — it's  a  subject,  however,  on 
which  I  am  perfectly  indifferent ;  but  if  ever  you  should  be 
hanged,  Sir  Robert,  I  shall  certainly  make  it  a  point  to  see 
you  thrown  off  if  it  were  only  as  a  mark  of  respect  for  your 
humane  and  excellent  character." 

"  He  would  be  a  severe  loss  to  the  country,"  observed 
Sir  Jenkins ;  "  the  want  of  his  hospitality  would  be  deeply 
felt  by  the  gentry  of  the  neighbourhood ;  for  which 
reason,"  he  observed  sarcastically,  "  I  hope  he  will  be 
spared  to  us  as  long  as  his  hospitality  lasts." 

"  In  the  meantime,  gentlemen,"  observed  the  sheriff,  "  I 
wish  that  with  such  keen  noses  for  priests,  and  rebels,  and 
criminals,  you  could  come  upon  the  trail  of  the  scoundrel 
who  robbed  me  of  three  hundred  and  fifty  pounds." 


171  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  Would  you  know  him  again,  Mr.  Sheriff]"  asked  Sir 
Robert,  "and  could  you  describe  his  appearance ?" 

ul  have  been  turning  the  matter  over,"  replied  the 
sheriff,  "  and  I  feel  satisfied  that  I  would  know  him  if  I 
saw  him.  He  was  dressed  in  a  broadcloth  brown  coat, 
li^ht-coloured  breeches,  and  had  silver  buckles  in  his  shoes. 
The  fellow  was  no  common  robber.  Stuart — one  of  your 
dragoons,  Sir  Robert,  who  came  to  my  relief  when  it  was 
too  late — insists,  from  my  description  of  the  dress,  that  it 
was  Reilly." 

"Are  you  sure  he  was  not  dressed  in  black?'  asked 
Sinellpriest.  "  Did  you  observe  a  beads  or  crucifix  about 
him?" 

"  I  have  described  the  dress  accurately,"  replied  the 
sheriff;  "but  I  am  certain  that  it  was  not  Reilly.  On 
bringing  the  matter  to  my  recollection,  after  I  had  got  rid 
of  the  pain  and  agitation,  I  was  able  to  remember  that  the 
ruffian  had  a  coarse  face  and  red  whiskers.  Now,  Rally's 
hair  and  whiskers  are  black." 

"It  was  a  reverend  Papist,"  said  Smellpriest;  "one  of 
those  from  whom  you  had  levied  the  fines  that  day,  and 
who  thought  it  no  harm  to  transfer  them  back  again  to 
holy  Church.  You  know  not  how  those  rascals  can  dis- 
guise themselves." 

"And  can  you  blame  them,  Smellpriest,"  said  the  squire, 
"  for  disguising  themselves?  JSTow,  suppose  the  tables  were 
turned  upon  us,  that  Popery  got  the  ascendant,  and  that 
Papists  started  upon  the  same  principles  against  us,  that 
we  put  in  practice  against  them;  suppose  that  Popish 
soldiers  were  hallooed  on  against  our  parsons,  and  all  other 
Protestants  conspicuous  for  an  attachment  to  their  religion, 
and  anxious  to  put  down  the  persecution  under  which  we 
suffered ;  why,  hang  it,  could  you  blame  the  parsons,  when 
hunted  to  the  death,  for  disguising  themselves  1  And  if 
you  could  not,  how  can  you  blame  the  priests?  Would 
you  have  the  poor  devils  walk  into  your  hands,  and  say — 
'  Come,  gentlemen,  be  good  enough  to  hang  or  trausport 
us.'  I  am  anxious  to  secure  Reilly,  and  either  to  hang  or 
transport  him.     I  would  say  the  latter,  though." 

u  And  I,  the  former,"  observed  Sir  Robert. 

"  Well,  Bob,  that  is  as  may  happen ;  but  in  the  mean- 


WILLY  REILLY.  175 

time,  I  say  he  never  robbed  the  sheriff  here ;  and  if  he  were 
going  to  the  gallows  to-morrow,  I  would  maintain  it." 

Neither  the  clergyman  nor  Mr.  Hastings  took  much 
part  in  the  conversation ;  but  the  eye  of  the  latter  was, 
during  the  greater  portion  of  the  evening,  fixed  upon  the 
baronet,  like  that  of  a  basilisk,  accompanied  by  a  hidden 
meaning,  which  it  was  impossible  to  penetrate,  but  which, 
nevertheless,  had  such  an  effect  upon  Whitecraft,  that  he 
could  not  help  observing  it. 

"  It  would  seem,  Mr.  Hastings,"  said  he,  "  as  if  you  had 
never  seen  me  before.  Your  eye  has  scarcely  been  oft*  me 
during  the  whole  evening.  lb  is  not  pleasant,  sir,  nor 
scarcely  gentlemanly." 

"  You  should  feel  proud  of  it,  Sir  Robert,"  replied  Hast- 
ings ;  "  I  only  admire  you." 

"Well,  then,  I  wish  you  would  express  your  admiration 
in  some  some  other  manner  than  by  staring  at  me." 

"  Gadzooks,  Sir  Robert,"  said  the  squire,  "  don't  you 
know  that  a  cat  may  look  at  a  king  1  Hastings  must  be  a 
man  of  devilish  good  taste,  Bob,  and  you  ought  to  thank  him." 

Mr.  Brown  and  Mr.  Hastings,  soon  afterwards,  went  up 
stairs,  and  left  the  other  gentlemen  to  their  liquor,  which 
they  now  began  to  enjoy  with  a  more  convivial  spirit.  The 
old  squire's  loyalty  rose  to  a  very  high  pitch,  as  indeed  did 
that  of  his  companions,  all  of  whom  entertained  the  same 
principles,  with  the  exception  of  Lord  Deilmacare,  whose 
opinions  never  could  be  got  at,  for  the  very  sufficient 
reason,  that  he  did  not  know  them  himself. 

"  Come,  Whitecraft,"  said  the  squire,  "  help  yourself,  and 
push  the  bottle ;  now  that  those  two  half-Papists  are  gone, 
we  can  breathe  and  speak  a  little  more  freely.  Here's  our 
glorious  Constitution,  in  Church  and  State,  and  curse  all 
priests  and  Papists — barring  a  few,  that  I  know  to  be 
honest." 

"  I  drink  it,  but  I  omit  the  exception,"  said  Sir  Robert, 
"and  I  wonder,  sir,  you  would  make  any  exception  to  such 
a  toast." 

"I  drink  it,"  said  Smellpriest,  "including  the  rascal 
priests."  ,'  ■ 

"  And  I  drink  it,"  said  the  sheriff,  "  as  it  has  been  pro- 

r^d." 


176  WILLY   REILLY. 

"  What  was  it  V  said  Lord  Deilmacare  ;  "  come,  I  drink 
it — it  doesn't  matter.  I  suppose,  coming  from  our  excel- 
lent host,  it  must  be  right  and  proper." 

They  caroused  deeply,  and  in  proportion  as  the  liquor 
affected  their  brains,  so  did  their  determination  to  rid  the 
squire  of  the  rebel  Reilly  form  itself  into  an  express  resolu- 
tion to  that  effect. 

"  Hang  Reilly — hang  the  villain — the  gallows  for  him— 
hurra!"  and  in  this  charitable  sentiment  their  voices  all 
joined  in  a  fierce  and  drunken  exclamation,  uttered  with 
their  hands  all  clasped  in  each  other,  with  a  strong  and 
firm  grip.  From  one  mouth  alone,  however,  proceeded, 
amidst  a  succession  of  hiccups,  the  word  "  transportation;" 
which,  when  Lord  Deilmacare  heard,  he  changed  his 
principle,  and  joined  the  old  squire  in  the  same  mitigation 
of  feeling. 

"I  say,  Deilmacare,"  shouted  Sir  Robert,  "we  must  hang 
him  high  and  dry." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  his  lordship,  "  with  all  my  heart, 
Sir  Robert ;  we  must  hang  you  high  and  dry." 

"  But,  Deilmacare,"  said  the  squire,  "  we  shall  only 
transport  him." 

"  Very  good,"  exclaimed  his  lordship,  emptying  a  bum- 
per; "  we  shall  only  transport  you,  Sir  Robert." 

"  Hang  him,  Deilmacare  1" 

"Very  well,  hang  him  !' 

"  Transport,  him,  I  say,  Deilmacare,"  from  the  squire. 

"  Good  again,"  said  his  lordship ;   "  transport  him,  say  I." 

And  on  went  the  drunken  revel,  until  they  scarcely  knew 
what  they  said. 

The  clergyman  and  Mr.  Hastings,  on  reaching  the  draw- 
ing-room, found  Helen  in  a  state  of  inexpressible  distress. 
A  dispute  upon  the  prevailing  morals  of  all  modern  young 
ladies  had  been  got  up  by  Lady  Joram  and  Mrs.  Oxley,  for 
the  express  purpose  of  venting  their  petty  malice  against 
the  girl,  because  they  had  taken  it  into  their  heads  that 
she  paid  more  attention  to  Mrs.  Brown  and  Mrs.  Hastings 
than  she  did  to  them.  This  dispute  was  tantamount  to 
what,  in  the  prize  ring,  is  called  a  cross,  when  the  fight  is 
only  a  mock  one,  and  terminates  by  the  voluntary  defeat 
of  one  of  the  parties,  upon  a  preconcerted  arrangement. 


WILLY   REILLY.  177 

•'I  don't  agree  with  you,  my  lady;  nor  can  I  think  that 
the  morals  of  young  ladies  in  'igh  life,  by  witch  I  mean  the 
(daughters  and  heiresses  of  wealthy  squires " 

14  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Oxley,"  said  her  ladyship,  interrupt- 
ing her,  and  placing  her  hand  gently  upon  her  arm,  as  if  to 
solicit  her  consent  to  the  observation  she  was  about  to 
make,  "  you  know,  my  dear  Mrs.  Oxley,  that  the  daughter 
of  a  mere  country  squire  can  have  no  pretensions  to  come 
under  the  definition  of  high  life." 

"  Wy  not  I"  replied  Mrs.  Oxley ;  "  the  squires  are  often 
wealthier  than  the  haristocracy ;  and  I  don't  at  all  see," 
she  added,  "  wy  the  daughter  of  such  a  man  should  not  be 
considered  as  moving  in  'igh  life — always,  of  course,  pro- 
vided that  she  forms  no  disgraceful  attachments  to  Papists 
and  rebels  and  low  persons  of  tbat  'ere  class.  No,  my  lady, 
I  don't  at  all  agree  with  you  in  your  view  of  'igh  life." 

"You  don't  appear,  madam,  to  entertain  a  sufficiently 
accurate  estimate  of  high  life." 

"I  beg  pardon,  ma'am,  but  I  think  I  can  understand  'igh 
life  as  well  as  those  that  don't  know  it  better  nor  myself. 
I  'ave  seen  a  great  deal  of  'igh  life.  Feyther  'ad  a  willar  at 
Mga:e,  and  'Igate  is  known  to  be  the  'ighest  place  about  the 
metropolis  of  Lunnon — it  and  St.  Paul's  are  upon  a  bevel." 

"  Level,  perhaps,  you  mean,  ma'am  V 

44  Level  or  bevel,  it  doesn't  much  diversify — but  I  prefer 
the  bevel  to  the  level  on  all  occasions.  All  I  knows  is," 
she  proceeded,  "  that  it  is  a  shame  for  any  young  lady,  as 
is  a  young  lady,  to  take  a  liking  to  a  Papist,  because  we 
know  the  Papists  are  all  rebels  and  would  cut  our  throats, 
only  for  the  protection  of  our  generous  and  merciful  laws.'5 

11 1  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  merciful  laws,"  ob- 
served Mrs.  Brown.  "  They  surely  cannot  be  such  laws  as 
oppress  and  persecute  a  portion  of  the  people,  and  give  an 
unjust  license  to  one  class  to  persecute  another,  and  to 
prevent  them  from  exercising  the  duties  which  then 
religion  imposes  upon  them." 

11  Well,"  said  Lady  Joram,  "  all  I  wish  is,  that  the  Pa- 
pists were  exterminated:  we  should  then  have  no  appre- 
hensions that  our  daughters  would  disgrace  themselves  hy 
falling  in  love  with  them." 

This  conversation  was  absolutely  cruel,  and  the  amiable 

M 


173  WILLY  REILLY. 

Mrs.  Brown,  from  compassion  to  Helen,  withdrew  her  into 
a  corner  of  the  room,  and  entered  into  conversation  with 
her  upon  a  different  topic,  assuring  her  previously  that  she 
would  detail  their  offensive  and  ungenerous  remarks  to  her 
father,  who,  she  trusted,  would  never  see  them  under  his 
roof  again,  nor  give  them  an  opportunity  of  indulging  in 
their  vulgar  malignity  a  second  time.  Helen  thanked  her, 
and  said  their  hints  and  observations,  though  rude  and  un- 
generous, gave  her  but  little  pain.  The  form  of  language 
in  which  they  were  expressed,  she  added,  and  the  indefen- 
sible violation  of  all  the  laws  of  hospitality,  blunted  the 
severity  of  what  they  said. 

"  I  am  not  ashamed,"  she  said,  "  of  my  attachment  to 
the  brave  and  generous  young  man  who  saved  my  father's 
life.  He  is  of  no  vulgar  birth,  but  a  highly  educated  and  a 
highly  accomplished  gentleman — a  man,  in  fact,  my  dear 
Mrs.  Brown,  whom  no  woman,  be  her  rank  in  life  ever  so 
high  or  exalted,  might  blush  to  love.  /  do  not  blush  to 
make  the  avowal  that  I  love  him  ;  but,  unfortunately,  in 
consequence  of  the  existing  laws  of  the  country,  my  love 
for  him,  which  I  will  never  conceal,  must  be  a  hopeless 
one." 

"  I  regret  the  state  of  those  laws,  my  dear  Miss  Folliard, 
as  much  as  you  do ;  but  still  their  existence  puts  a  breach 
between  you  and  Keilly,  and  under  those  circumstances  my 
advice  to  you  is  to  overcome  your  affection  for  him  if  you 
can.     Marriage  is  out  of  the  question." 

"  It  is  not  marriage  I  think  of — for  that  is  out  of  the 
question — but  Reilly's  life  and  safety.  If  he  were  safe,  I 
should  feel  comparatively  happy  ;  happiness,  in  its  full  ex- 
tent, I  nover  can  hope  to  enjoy ;  but  if  he  were  only  safe, 
— if  he  were  only  safe,  my  dear  Mrs.  Brown  !  I  know  that 
he  is  hunted  like  a  beast  of  prey ;  and  under  such  circum- 
stances as  disturb  and  distract  the  country,  how  can  he 
escape  V* 

The  kind-hearted  lady  consoled  her  as  well  as  she  could  ; 
but  in  fact,  her  grounds  for  consolation  were  so  slender, 
that  her  arguments  only  amounted  to  those  general  obser- 
vations, which,  commonplace  as  they  are,  we  are  in  the 
habit  of  hearing  from  day  to  day.  Helen  was  too  high- 
minded  to  shed  tears,  but  Mrs.  Brown  could  plainly  per- 


WILLY  REILLY.  179 

ceive  the  depth  of  her  emotion,  and  feel  the  extent  of  what 
she  suffered. 

We  shall  not  detail,  at  further  length,  the  conversation 
of  the  other  ladies — if  ladies  they  can  be  called ;  nor  that 
of  the  gentlemen,  after  they  entered  the  drawing-room. 
Sir  Eobert  Whitecraft  attempted  to  enter  into  conversation 
with  Helen,  but  found  himself  firmly  and  decidedly  re- 
pulsed. In  point  of  fact,  some  of  the  gentlemen  were  not 
in  a  state  to  grace  a  drawing-room,  and  in  a  short  time  they 
took  their  leave,  and  retired. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

SIR    ROBERT    MEETS    A   BROTHER    SPORTSMAN — DRAWS     HIS 
NETS,  BUT    CATCHES   NOTHING. 

"'^vvpMS  ccmscience  that  makes  cowards  of  us  all,"  said 
y$\  Shakspeare,  with  that  wonderful  wisdom  which 
®^  enlightens  his  glorious  pages ;  and,  in  fact,  Sir 
Eobert  Whitecraft,  in  his  own  person,  fully  corroborated 
the  truth  of  the  poet's  apophthegm.  The  man,  besides, 
was  naturally  a  coward ;  and  when  to  this  we  add  the 
consciousness  of  his  persecutions  and  cruelties,  and  his 
apprehensions  from  the  revenge  of  Reilly — the  destruction 
of  whose  property,  without  any  authority  from  Government 
for  the  act,  he  felt  himself  guilty  of — the  reader  may 
understand  the  nature  and  extent  of  his  terrors  on  his  way 
home.  The  distance  between  his  own  house  and  that  of 
his  intended  father-in-law  was  about  three  miles,  and  there 
lay  a  long  space  of  level  road,  hedged  in,  as  was  then  the 
custom,  on  both  sides,  from  behind  which  hedges  an 
excellent  aim  could  be  taken.  As  Sir  Robert  proceeded 
along  this  lonely  path,  his  horse  stumbled  against  some 
stones  that  were  in  his  way,  or,  perhaps,  that  had  been 
purposely  placed  there.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  baronet 
fell ;  and  a  small  man,  of  compact  size  and  vigorous  frame, 
was  found  aiding  him  to  rise.  Having  helped  hi na  into  his 
saddle,  the  baronet  asked  him,  with  an  infirm  and  alarmed 
voice,  who  he  was. 


ISO  WILLY   REILLY. 

"  Why,  Sir  Robert,"  he  replied,  "  you  must  know  I  am 
not  a  Papist,  or  I  wouldn't  be  apt  to  render  you  any  assist- 
ance; I  am  somewhat  of  your  own  kidney — a  bit  of  a 
priest-hunter,  on  a  small  scale.  I  used  to  set  them  for 
Captain  Smellpriest,  but  he  paid  me  badly,  and,  as  there 
was  great  risk  among  the  bloody  Papists,  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  withdraw  out  of  his  service ;  but  you  are  a  gentle- 
man, Sir  Robert,  what  Captain  Smellpriest  is  not,  and  if 
you  want  an  active  and  useful  enemy  to  Popery,  I  am  your 
man." 

•'I  want  such  a  person,  certainly,"  replied  the  baronet, 
who,  in  consequence  of  the  badness  of  the  road  and  the 
darkness  of  the  night,  was  obliged  to  walk  his  horse  with 
caution.  *'By  the  way,"  said  he,  "did  you  not  hear  a 
noise  behind  the  hedge  ?" 

"  I  did,"  replied  the  other,  "  but  it  was  the  noise  of  cattle." 

"  I  am  not  aware,"  replied  Sir  Robert,  "  what  the  devil 
cattle  can  have  to  do  immediately  behind  the  hedge.  I 
rather  think  they  are  some  of  our  own  species ;"  and,  as  he 
ceased  speaking,  the  tremendous  braying  of  a  jackass  came 
upon  their  ears. 

"  You  were  right,  Sir  Robert,"  replied  his  companion ; 
11 1  beg  pardon,  I  mean  that  /  was  right ;  you  know  now  it 
was  cattle." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?"  asked  Sir  Robert. 

"Rowland  Drum,  Sir  Robert;  and,  if  you  will  permit 
me,  I  should  like  to  see  you  safe  home.  I  need  not  say 
that  you  are  hated  by  the  Papists;  and,  as  the  road  is 
lonesome  and  dangerous,  as  a  priest-hunter  myself,  I  think 
it  an  act  of  duty  not  to  leave  you." 

"  Thank  yon,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "  you  are  a  civil  person, 
and  I  will  accept  your  escort." 

"  Whatever  danger  you  may  run,  Sir  Robert,  I  will  stand 
by  your  side  and  partake  of  it." 

"  Thank  you,  friend,"  replied  Sir  Robert ;  "  there  is  a 
lonely  place  before  us,  where  a  ghost  is  said  to  be  seen — 
the  ghost  of  a  priest  whom  I  hunted  for  a  long  time; 
Smellpriest,  it  is  said,  shot  him  at  the  place  I  allude  to. 
He  was  disguised  as  a  drummer,  and  is  said  to  haunt  the 
locality  where  he  was  shot." 

44  Well,  I  shall  see  you  safe  over  the  place,  Sir  R>bert, 


WILLY   REILLY.  131 

and  go  home  with  you  afterwards,  provided  you  will 
promise  to  give  me  a  bed  and  my  supper ;  to-morrow  wo 
can  talk  on  matters  of  business." 

"  I  shall  certainly  do  so,"  replied  Sir  Robert,  "  not  only 
in  consequence  of  your  attention  to  me,  but  of  our  common 
purpose." 

They  then  proceeded  onwards — passed  the  haunted  spot 
— -without  either  hearing  or  seeing  the  spectral  drummer. 
Or  arriving  at  home,  Sir  Robert,  who  drank  privately, 
ordered  wine  for  himself,  and  sent  Lowland  Drum  to  the 
kitchen,  where  he  was  rather  meagrely  entertained,  and 
was  afterwards  lodged  for  the  night  in  the  garret. 

The  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  Sir  Robert  sent  for 
Mr.  Drum,  who,  on  entering  the  breakfast-parlour,  was 
thus  addressed  by  his  new  patron  : 

"  What's  this  you  say  your  name  is  V. 

"  Rowland  Drum,  sir." 

"  Rowland  Drum !  Well,  now,  Rowland  Drum,  are  you 
well  acquainted  with  the  priests  of  this  diocese  I" 

"No  man  better,"  replied  the  redoubtable  Rowland. 
"  1  know  most  of  them  by  person,  and  have  got  private 
descriptions  of  them  all  from  Captain  Smellpriest,  which 
will  be  invaluable  to  you,  Sir  Robert.  The  fact  is — and 
this  I  mention  in  the  strictest  confidence— that  Smellpriest 
is  suspicious  of  your  attachment  to  our  glorious  Constitu- 
tion." 

"  The  confounded  rascal,"  replied  the  baronet.  "  Did  he 
ever  burn  as  many  Popish  houses  as  I  have  done  ]  He 
has  no  appetite  for  anything  but  the  pursuit  and  capture 
of  priests ;  but  I  have  a  far  more  general  and  unsparing 
practice,  for  I  not  only  capture  the  priests,  where  I  can, 
but  every  lay  Papist  that  we  suspect  in  the  country. 
Here,  for  instance.  Do  you  see  those  papers  %  They  are 
blank  warrants  for  the  apprehension  of  the  guilty  and 
suspected,  and  also  protections,  transmitted  to  me  from 
the  Secretray  of  State,  that  I  may  be  enabled,  by  his 
authority,  to  protect  such  Papists  as  will  give  useful 
information  to  the  Government.  Here  they  are,  signed  by 
the  Secretarj',  but  the  blanks  are  left  for  myself  to  fill  up." 

"I  wish  we  could  get  Reilly  to  come  over,"  said  Mr. 
Drum. 


182  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  Oh  !  the  infernal  villain,"  said  the  baronet,  "  all  the 
protections  that  ever  were  or  could  be  issued  from  the 
Secretary's  office  would  not  nor  could  not  save  him.  Old 
Folliard  and  I  will  hang  him,  if  there  was  not  another  man 
to  be  hanged  in  the  three  kingdoms." 

At  this  moment  a  servant  came  in  and  said,  "  Sir  Eobert, 
there  is  a  woman  here  who  wishes  to  have  some  private 
conversation  with  you." 

"  What  kind  of  a  woman  is  she  V  asked  the  baronet. 

"  Faith,  your  honour,  a  sturdy  and  strapping  wench, 
somewhat  rough  in  the  face,  but  of  great  proportions." 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  Mr.  Drum  had  been  sitting  at 
the  window  during  this  brief  conversation,  and  at  once 
recognised,  under  the  disguise  of  a  woman,  the  celebrated 
informer,  the  Eev.  Mr.  Hennessy,  a  wretch  whose  criminal 
course  of  life,  as  we  said  before,  was  so  gross  and  reprobate, 
that  his  pious  bishop  deemed  it  his  duty  to  suspend  him 
from  all  clerical  functions. 

"  Sir  Eobert,"  said  Drum,  "  I  must  go  up  to  my  room 
and  shave.  My  presence,  I  apprehend,  won't  be  necessary, 
where  there  is  a  lady  in  question." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  the  baronet ;  "  I  know  not  what 
her  business  may  be ;  but  I  shall  be  glad  to  speak  with 
you  after  she  shall  have  gone." 

It  was  very  well  that  Hennessy  did  not  see  Drum,  whom 
he  would  at  once  have  recognised ;  but,  at  all  events,  the 
interview  between  the  reprobate  priest  and  the  baronet 
lasted  for  at  least  an  hour. 

After  the  Eev.  Miss  Hennessy  had  taken  her  departure, 
Mr.  Drum  was  sent  for  by  the  baronet,  whom  he  still 
found  in  the  breakfast  parlour. 

"  Drum,"  said  he,  "  you  have  now  an  opportunity  of 
essentially  serving  not  only  me,  but  the  Government  of  the 
country.  This  lady  turns  out  to  be  a  Popish  priest  in 
disguise,  and  I  have  taken  him  into  my  confidence,  as  a 
guide  and  auxiliary.  Now,  you  have  given  me  proofs  of 
personal  attachment,  which  is  certainly  more  than  he  has 
done  as  yet.  I  have  heard  of  his  character  as  an  immoral 
priest ;  and  the  man  who  could  be  false  to  his  own  creed  is 
not  a  man  to  be  relied  upon.  He  has  described  to  me  the 
position  of  a  cavern,  in  which  are  now  hidiug  a  set  of  pro- 


WILLY  EEILLY.  183 

scribed  priests ;  but  I  cannot  have  confidence  in  his  infor- 
mation, and  I  wish  you  to  go  to  the  ravine  or  cavern,  or 
whatever  the  devil  it  is,  and  return  to  me  with  correct 
intelligence.  It  may  be  a  lure  to  draw  me  into  danger,  or 
perhaps  to  deprive  me  of  my  life ;  but  on  second  thought,  I 
think  I  shall  get  a  military  force,  and  go  myself." 

"  And  perhaps  never  return,  unless  with  your  heels  fore- 
most, Sir  Eobert.  I  tell  you  that  this  Hennessy  is  the 
most  treacherous  scoundrel  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  You 
do  not  know  what  he's  at,  but  I  will  tell  you,  for  I  have  it 
from  his  own  cousin.  His  object  is  to  have  you  assassi- 
nated, in  order  to  restore  himself  to  the  good  graces  of  the 
bishop  and  the  Catholic  party,  who,  I  must  say,  however, 
would  not  countenance  such  a  murderous  act;  still,  Sir 
Robert,  if  you  were  taken  off,  the  man  who  took  you  off 
would  have  his  name  honoured  and  exalted  throughout  the 
country." 

"  Yes,  I  believe  you  are  right,  Drum ;  they  are  thirsting 
for  my  blood,  but  not  more  than  I  am  thirsting  for  theirs." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Drum,  "don't  trust  yourself  to  the 
counsels  of  this  Hennessy,  who,  in  my  opinion,  only 
wants  to  make  a  scapegoat  of  you.  Allow  me  to  go  to  the 
place  he  mentions,  for  I  know  the  ravine  well,  but  I  never 
knew  nor  do  I  believe  that  there  is  a  cavern  at  all  in  it, 
and  that  is  what  makes  me  suspect  the  scoundrel's  motives. 
He  can  have  hundreds  of  outlaws  secretly  armed,  who 
would  never  suffer  you  to  escape  with  your  life.  The 
thing  is  an  ambuscade ;  take  my  word  for  it,  it  is  nothing 
less.  Of  course  you  can  go,  yourself  and  your  party,  if  you 
wish.  You  will  prevent  me  from  running  a  great  risk ; 
but  I  am  only  anxious  for  your  safety." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Sir  Eobert,  "  you  shall  go  upon  this 
mission.  It  may  not  be  safe  for  me  to  do  so.  Try  if  you 
can  make  out  this  cavern,  if  there  be  a  cavern." 

"  I  will  try,  Sir  Eobert ;  and  I  will  venture  to  say,  that 
if  it  can  be  made  out,  1  will  make  it  out." 

Eowland  Drum  accordingly  set  out  upon  his  mission, 
and  having  arrived  at  the  cavern,  with  which  he  was  so 
well  acquainted,  he  entered  it  with  the  usual  risk.  His 
voice,  however,  was  recognised,  and  he  got  instant  ad- 
mittance. -     . 


134  WILLY  RB1LLY. 

"My  dear  friends,"  said  he,  after  he  had  entered  the  inner 
part  of  it,  "you  must  disperse  immediately.  Hennessy 
has  betrayed  you,  and  if  you  remain  here  twenty-four 
hours  longer,  Sir  Robert  Wiiitecraft  and  a  party  of  military, 
guided,  probably,  by  the  treacherous  scoundrel  himself, 
will  be  upon  you.  The  villain  had  a  long  interview  with 
him,  and  gave  a  full  detail  of  the  cavern  and  its  inmates." 

11  But  how  did  you  become  acquainted  with  iSir  Robert 
Whitccraft  V  asked  the  bishop. 

"  In  order,  my  lord,  to  ascertain  his  intentions  and  future 
proceedings,''  replied  Mr.  Drum,  "  that  we  might  guard 
against  his  treachery  and  persecution.  On  his  way  hom-j 
from  a  dinner  at  Squire  Folliaru's  I  met  him  in  a  lonely 
part  of  the  road,  where  he  was  thrown  from  his  horse ;  I 
helped  him  into  his  saddle,  told  him  I  was  myself  a  priest- 
hunter,  and  thus  got  into  his  confidence  so  far  as  to  be  able 
to  frustrate  Hennessy's  treachery,  and  to  counteract  his 
own  designs." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  bishop,  sternly.  "  you  have  acted  a  part 
unworthy  of  a  Christian  clergyman.  \\re  should  not  do 
evil  that  good  may  follow ;  and  you  have  done  evil  in 
associating  yourself,  in  any  sense,  and  for  any  purpose,  with 
this  bloodthirsty  tiger  and  persecutor  of  the  faithful." 

"My  lord,"  replied  the  priest,  "this  is  not  a  time  to 
enter  into  a  discussion  on  such  a  subject.  Hennessy  has 
betrayed  us ;  and  if  you  do  not  disperse  to  other  places  of 
safety,  he  will  himself,  as  I  said,  lead  Sir  Robert  Wiiitecraft 
and  a  military  party  to  this  very  cavern,  and  then  may  God 
have  mercy  on  you  all." 

"Brethren,"  said  the  bishop,  "this  is,  after  all,  possible 
that  our  brother  has,  by  the  mercy  and  providence  of  God, 
through  his  casual  meeting  with  this  remorseless  man,  been 
made  the  instrument  of  our  safety.  As  for  myself,  I  am 
willing  to  embrace  the  crown  of  martyrdom,  and  to  lay 
down  my  life,  if  necessary,  for  the  faith  that  is  in  me.  You 
all  know  what  I  have  already  suffered,  and  you  know  that 
persecution  drives  a  wise  man  mad.  My  children,"  he 
added,  "  it  is  possible,  aud  I  fear  too  probable,  that  some  of 
us  may  never  see  each  other  in  this  life  again ;  but,  at  the 
same  time,  let  it  be  our  hope  and  consolation  that  we  shall 
meet  in  a  better.     AvA  for  this  purpose,  and  in  order  to 


WILLY  REILLY.  185 

secure  a  ■  futurity  of  happiness,  let  us  lead  spotless  and 
irreproachable  lives ;  such  as  will  enable  us  to  meet  the 
hour  of  death,  whether  it  comes  by  the  hand  of  God  or  the 
persecution  of  man.  Be  faithful  to  the  principles  of  our 
holy  religion — be  faithful  to  truth — to  moral  virtue — be 
faithful  to  God,  before  whose  awful  tribunal  we  must  all 
appear,  and  render  an  account  of  our  lives.  It  would  be 
mere  wantonness  to  throw  yourselves  into  the  hands  of 
our  persecutors.  Reserve  yourselves  for  the  continuance 
and  the  sustainmeut  of  our  blessed  religion ;  but  if  you 
should  happen  to  fall,  by  the  snares  and  devices  of  the 
enemy,  into  the  power  of  those  who  are  striving  to  work 
our  extermination,  and  if  they  should  press  you  to  renounce 
your  faith,  upon  the  alternative  of  banishment  or  death, 
then,  I  say,  banishment,  or  death  itself,  sooner  than  be- 
come apostates  to  your  religion.  I  shall  retire  to  a 
neighbourhood  only  a  few  miles  distant  from  this,  where 
the  poor  Catholic  population  are  without  spiritual  aid  or 
consolation.  I  have  been  there  before,  and  I  know  their 
wants,  and  were  it  not  that  I  was  hunted  and  pursued, 
with  a  view  to  my  death — to  my  murder,  I  should  rather 
say — I  would  have  remained  with  them  still.  But  that  I 
considered  it  a  duty  to  that  portion  of  the  Church  over 
which  God  called  upon  me  to  preside  and  watch,  I  would 
not  have  avoided  those  inhuman  traffickers  in  the  blood  of 
God's  people.  Yet  I  am  bound  to  say,  that  from  the 
clergymen  of  the  Established  Church,  and  from  many 
Protestant  magistrates,  we  have  received  kindness,  sym- 
pathy, and  shelter.  Their  doors,  their  hearths,  and  their 
hearts  have  been  open  to  us,  and  that,  too,  in  a  truly 
Christian  spirit.  Let  us,  then,  render  them  good  for  good  ; 
let  us  pray  for  their  conversion,  and  that  they  may  return 
to  the  right  path." 

"  They  have  acted  generously  and  nobly,"  added  Reilly, 
"and  in  a  truly  Christian  spirit.  Were  it  not  for  the 
shelter  and  protection  which  I  myself  received  from  one  of 
them,  my  mangled  body  would,  probably,  be  huddled  down 
into  some  obscure  grave,  as  a  felon;  and  my  property — 
which  is  mine  only  by  a  necessary  fiction  and  evasion  of 
the  law — have  passed  into  the  hands  of  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft     I  am  wrong,  however,  in  saying  that  it  could.     Mr, 


186  WILLY  REILLY. 

Hastings,  a  generous  and  liberal  Protestant,  took  it  in  his 
own  name  for  my  father,  bub  gave  me  a  deed  of  assign- 
ment, placing  it  as  securely  in  my  hands,  and  in  my  power, 
as  if  I  were  Sir  Eoberfc  Whitecraft  himself;  and  I  must 
add — which  I  do  with  pleasure — that  the  deed  in  question 
is  now  in  the  possession  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Brown,  the 
amiable  rector  of  the  parish."  • 

"  But  he  is  a  heretic,"  said  a  red-faced  little  man,  dressed 
in  leather  breeches,  top  boots,  and  a  huutsman's  cap ; 
"  vade  retro,  sathanas.  It  is  a  damnable  crime  to  have  any 
intercourse  with  them,  or  to  receive  any  protection  from 
them :  vade  retro,  sathanas." 

"  If  I  don't  mistake,"  said  the  cook — an  archdeacon  by 
the  way — "you,  yourself,  received  protection  from  them, 
and  were  glad  to  receive  it." 

"If  I  did  receive  protection  from  one  of  their  heretic 
parsons,  it  was  for  Christian  purposes.  My  object  was  not 
so  much  to  seek  protection  from  him,  as  to  work  out  his 
salvation  by  withdrawing  him  from  his  heresy.  But  then 
the  fellow  was  as  obstinate  as  sathanas  himself,  and  had 
Greek  and  Hebrew  at  his  fingers',  ends.  I  made  several 
passes  at  him — tried  Irish,  and  told  him  it  was  Italian. 
'  Well,'  said  he,  smiling,  i  I  understand  Italian  too ;'  and 
to  my  astonishment  he  addressed  me  in  the  best  Irish  I 
ever  heard  spoken.  •  Now,'  said  he,  still  smiling,  ;  you 
perceive  that  I  understand  Italian  nearly — I  will  not  say  so 
well — as  you  do.  Now,  as  I  am  a  sinner,  that,  I  say,  was 
ungenerous  treatment.     He  was  perfectly  irreclaimable." 

This  man  was,  like  Mr.  Maguire,  what  has  been  termed 
a  hedge-priest — a  character  which,  as  we  have  already  said, 
the  poverty  of  the  Catholic  people,  during  the  existence  of 
the  penal  laws,  and  the  consequent  want  of  spiritual  in- 
struction, rendered  necessary.  There  were  no  Catholic 
colleges  in  the  country,  and  the  result  was  that  the  number 
of  foreign  priests — by  which  I  mean  Irish  priests  educated 
in  foreign  colleges — was  utterly  inadequate  to  meet  the 
spiritual  necessities  of  the  Irish  population.  Under  those 
circnmstances,  men  of  good  and  virtuous  character,*  who 
understood  something  of  the  Latin  tongue,  were  ordained 
by  their  respective  bishops,  for  the  purpose  which  we  have 
already  mentioned.     Bat  what  difference  was  there  between 


WILLY  REILLY.  187 

those  half-educated  men,  and  the  class  of  educated  clergy- 
men who  now  adorn,  not  only  their  Church,  but  the 
literature  of  the  country  !  .  .       . 

"Well,  my  dear  friend,"  said  the  bishop,  "let  us  be 
thankful  for  the  protection  which  we  have  received  at  the 
hands  of  the  Protestant  clergy  and  of  many  of  the  Protes- 
tant laity  also.  We  now  separate,  and  I  for  one  am 
sensible  how  much  this  cruel  persecution  has  strengthened 
the  bonds  of  Christian  love  among  us,  and  excited  our 
sympathy  for  our  poor  persecuted  flocks,  so  many  of  whom 
are  now  without  a  shepherd.  I  leave  you  with  tears — but 
they  are  tears  of  affection,  and  not  of  despair.  I  shall 
endeavour  to  be  useful,  wherever  I  may  abide.  Let  each 
of  you  do  all  the  spiritual  good  you  can — all  the  earthly 
good — all  good  in  its  most  enlarged  and  purest  sense.  But 
we  must  separate — probably  some  of  us,  for  ever ;  and  now 
may  the  blessing  of  the  Almighty  God — of  the  Father, 
Son,  and  Holy  Ghost — rest  upon  you  all  and  be  with  you 
and  abide  in  your  hearts,  now  and  for  ever !     Amen." 

Having  pronounced  these  words,  he  covered  his  face 
with  his  two  hands,  and  wept  bitterly.  There  were,  in- 
deed, few  dry  eyes  around  him ;  they  knelt  before  him — 
kissed  his  ring — and  prepared  to  take  their  departure  out 
of  the  cavern. 

"  My  lord,"  said  Reilly,  who  still  entertained  apprehen- 
sions of  the  return  of  his  malady — "  if  you  will  permit  me 
I  shall  share  your  fate,  whatever  it  may  be.  The  poor 
people  you  allude  to  are  not  in  a  condition  to  attend  to 
your  wants.  Allow  me,  then,  to  attend  and  accompany 
you  in  your  retreat." 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  the  bishop,  clasping  his  hand? 
"  you  are  heaping  coals  of  fire  upon  my  head.  I  trust  you 
will  forgive  me — for  I  knew  not  what  I  did.  I  shall  be 
glad  of  your  companionship.  I  fear  I  still  stand  in  need  of 
such  a  friend.  Be  it  so,  then,"  he  proceeded— "  be  it  so, 
my  dear  friend ;  only  that  I  should  not  wish  you  to  involve 
yourself  in  unnecessary  danger  on  my  account." 

"Danger,  my  lord!"  replied  Reilly;  "there  is  not  an 
individual  here  against  whom  personal  malignity  has  di- 
rected the  vengeance  of  the  law  with  such  a  bloodthirsty 
and  vindictive  spirit  as  against  myself..    Why  else  am  I 


138  WILLY   REILLY. 

here  ?     No,  I   will   accompany  your  lordship,  and   share 
your  fate." 

It  was  so  determined,  aud  they  left  the  cavern,  each  to 
procure  some  place  of  safety  for  himself. 

In  the  meantime,  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  having  had 
another  interview  with  Hennessy,  was  prevailed  upon  to 
get  a  military  party  together,  and  the  cunning  reprobate, 
in  order  to  excite  the  baronet's  vengeance  to  a  still  higher 
pitch,  mentioned  a  circumstance  which  he  had  before  for- 
gotten, to  wit,  that  Reilly,  his  arch-enemy,  was  also  in  the 
cave. 

"  But,"  said  Sir  Robert,  who,  as  we  have  already  said, 
was  a  poltroon  and  a  coward,  "  what  guarantee  can  you 
give  me  that  you  are  not  leading  me  into  an  ambuscade  ] 
You  know  that  I  am  unpopular,  and  the  Papists  would  be 
delighted  to  have  my  blood ;  what  guarantee,  then,  can 
you  give  me  that  you  are  acting  by  me  in  good  faith  V 

"The  guarantee  of  my  own  life,"  replied  the  other. 
"  Let  me  be  placed  between  two  of  your  men,  and  if  you 
see  anything  like  an  ambuscade,  let  them  shoot  me  dead  on 
the  spot." 

"  Why,"  replied  the  baronet,  "  that  is  fair ;  but  the  truth 
is,  I  have  been  put  on  my  guard  against  you,  by  a  person 
who  escorted  me  home  last  night.  He  rendered  me  some 
assistance  when  I  fell  from  my  horse,  and  he  slept  here." 

"  What  is  his  name  V  asked  Hennessy. 

"■  He  told  me,"  replied  the  baronet,  "  that  his  name  was 
Drum." 

"Could  you  give  me  a  description,  Sir  Robert,  of  his 
person  V 

Sir  Robert  did  so. 

"  I  declare  to  God,  Sir  Robert,  you  have  had  a  narrow 
escape  from  that  man.  He  is  one  of  the  most  bigoted 
priests  in  the  kingdom.  He  used  to  disguise  himself  as  a 
drummer — for  his  father  was  in  the  army,  and  he  himself 
was  a  drummer  in  his  boyhood  ;  and  his  object  in  prevent- 
ing you  from  bringing  a  military  party  to  the  cavern  was 
merely  that  he  might  have  an  opportunity  of  giving  them 
notice  of  your  intentions.  I  now  say  that  if  you  lose  an 
hour's  time  they  will  be  gone." 


WILLY   EEILLY.  189 

Sir  Robert  did  not  lose  an  hour's  time.  The  local  bar- 
racks were  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  his  house.  A 
party  of  military,  were  immediately  called  out,  and  in  a 
short  time  they  arrived,  under  the  guidance  of  Hennessy, 
to  the  very  mouth  of  the  cavern,  which  he  disclosed  to 
them.  It  is  unnecessary  to  detail  the  particulars  of  the 
search.  The  soldiers  entered  it  one  by  one,  but  found  that 
the  birds  had  flown.  The  very  fires  were  burning,  but  not 
a  living  soul  in  the  cave ;  it  was  completely  deserted,  and 
nothing  remained  but  some  miserable  relics  of  cold  pro- 
visions, with  which,  by  the  aid  of  fir  splices,  that  served  as 
torches,  they  regaled  themselves  as  far  as  they  went. 

Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  now  felt  full  confidence  in  Hen- 
nessy ;  but  would  have  given  a  trifle  to  renew  his  acquaint- 
ance with  Mr.  Rowland  Drum,  by  whose  ingenuity  he  was 
so  completely  outwitted.  As  it  was,  they  scoured  the 
country  in  search  of  the  inmates  of  the  cave,  but  above  all 
things  in  search  of  Reilly,  for  whose  capture  Whitecraft 
would  have  forgiven  every  man  in  the  cavern.  The  search, 
however,  was  unsuccessful ;  not  a  man  of  them  was  caught 
that  day,  and  gallant  Sir  Robert,  and  his  myrmidons,  were 
obliged  to  return  wearied  and  disappointed  men. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

REILLY   IS   TAKEN,   BUT   CONNIVED   AT    BY   THE    SHERIFF— 
THE  MOUNTAIN  MASS. 

EILLY  and  the  bishop  traversed  a  wild  and  remote 
part  of  the  country,  in  which  there  was  nothing  to 
be  seen  but  long  barren  wastes,  over  which  were 
studded,  here  and  there,  a  few  solitary  huts ;  upon  its 
extremity,  however,  there  were  some  houses  of  a  more 
comfortable  description,  the  habitations  of  middling  farmers, 
who  possessed  small  farms  at  a  moderate  rent.  As  they 
went  along,  the  prelate  addressed  Reilly  in  the  following 
terms  • 


ISO  WILLY  PwEILLY. 

"Mr.  Reilly,"  said  he,  "I  would  advise  you  to  get  out  of 
this  unhappy  country,  as  soon  as  you  can." 

"  My  lord,"  replied  Reilly,  who  was.  all  candour  and 
truth,  and  never  could  conceal  his  sentiments,  at  whatever 
risk,  "  I  cannot  think  of  leaving  the  country,  let  the  conse- 
quences be  what  they  may.  I  will  not  trouble  your  lord- 
ship with  my  motives,  because  they  are  at  variance  with 
your  character  and  religious  feelings ;  but  they  are  not  at 
variance  with  religion  or  morality.  It  is  enough  to  say, 
that  I  wish  to  prevent  a  beautiful  and  innocent  girl  from 
being  sacrificed.  My  lord,  you  know  too  well  that  perse- 
cution is  abroad ;  and  when  I  tell  you  that,  through  the 
influence  which  this  admirable  creature  has  over  her  father 
— who,  by  the  way,  has  himself  the  character  of  a  perse- 
cutor— many  Catholics  have  been  protected  by  him,  I  am 
sure  you  will  not  blame  me  for  the  interest  which  I  feel  in 
her  fate.  In  addition  to  this,  my  lord,  she  has  been  a 
ministering  angel  to  the  Catholic  poor  in  general,  and  has 
contributed  vast  sums,  privately,  to  the  relief  of  such  of 
our  priesthood  as  have  been  brought  to  distress  by  the 
persecution  of  the  times.  Nay,  she  has  so  far  influenced 
her  father,  that  proscribed  priests  have  found  refuge  and 
protection  in  his  house." 

The  bishop,  on  hearing  this,  stood,  and  taking  off  his 
hat,  raised  his  right  hand,  and  said  :  "  May  the  blessing  of 
the  Almighty  God  rest  upon  her,  and  guard  her  from  the 
snares  of  those  who  would  make  her  unhappy !  But, 
Reilly,  as  you  say  you  are  determined,  if  possible,  to  rescue 
her  from  ruin,  you  know  that  if  you  go  at  large  in  your 
usual  dress  you  will  unquestionably  be  taken.  I  advise 
you,  then,  to  disguise  yourself  in  such  a  way  as  that  you 
will  not,  if  possible,  be  known." 

"Such,  my  lord,  is  my  intention — but  who  is  this? 
what — eh — yes,  'tis  Fergus  O'Reilly,  a  distant  and  humble 
relation  of  mine  who  is  also  in  disguise.  "Well,  Fergus, 
where  have  you  been  for  some  time  past  V 

"  It  would  be  difficult  to  tell  that,  God  knows ;  I  have 
been  everywhere — but,"  he  added  iu  a  whisper,  "may  I 
speak  freely  T 

"  As  free  as  the  wind  that  blows,  Fergus." 

"  Well,  then,  I  tell  you  that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  has 


WILLY  REILLY.  121 

engaged  me  to  be  on  the  look  out  for  yon,  and  said  that  I 
would  be  handsomely  rewarded,  if  I  could  succeed  in 
enabling  the  scoundrel  to  apprehend  you." 

"  But  how  did  that  come  about,  Fergus  T 

"  Faith,  he  met  me  one  day — you  see  I  have  got  a  bag 
at  my  back — and  taking  me  for  a  beggarman,  stopped  me 
on  the  road.  'I  say,  you,  poor  man,'  says  he,  'what's 
your  name?  'Paddy  M'Fud/  says  I — 'I  belong  to  the 
M'Fuds  of  Ballymackknockem.'  'You're  a  beggar/  says 
he,  'and  travel  from  place  to  place,  about  the  country. 
'  It's  true  enough,  your  honour,'  I  replied,  '  I  travel  about 
a  good  deal,  of  coorse,  and  it's  only  that  way  that  I  get  my 
bit  and  sup.'  '  Do  you  know  the  notorious  villain  called 
Willy  Reilly  V  '  Not  by  sight,  your  honour,  but  I  have 
often  heard  of  him.  Wasn't  he  in  love  with  the  beautiful 
Cooleen  Bawn,  Squire  Folliard's  daughter  V  '  That's  not 
the  question  between  us,'  he  said,  '  but  if  you  enable  me  to 
catch  Eeilly  I  will  give  you  twenty  pounds.'  '  Well,  your 
honour,'  says  I,  'lave  the  thing  to  myself — if  he's  to  be  had 
it'll  go  hard  but  I'll  find  him.'  '  Well,  then,  says  he,  '  if 
you  can  tell  me  where  he  is,  I  will  give  you  twenty  pounds, 
as  I  said.'  'Well,  sir/  says  I,  '  I  expect  to  hear  from  you  ;  I 
am  not  sure  he's  in  the  country — indeed  they  say  he  is  not 
— but  if  he  is,  I  think  I'll  find  him  for  you ; '  and  so  we 
parted." 

"  Fergus,"  said  Reilly,  "  I  feel  that  a  disguise  is  necessary. 
Here  is  money  to  enable  you  to  purchase  one.  I  do  not 
know  where  you  may  be  able  to  find  me ;  but  go  and  buy 
me  a  suit  of  frieze,  rather  worn,  a  dingy  caubeen  hat, 
coarse  Connemara  stockings,  and  a  pair  of  clouted  brogues  ; 
some  coarse  linen,  too ;  because  the  fineness  of  my  shirts, 
should  I  happen  to  be  apprehended,  might  betray  me. 
Leave  them  with  widow  Buckley,  and  I  can  find  them 
there." 

It  was  so  arranged.  Fergus  went  on  his  way,  as  did 
Reilly  and  the  bishop.  The  latter  conducted  him  to  the 
house  of  a  middling  farmer,  whose  son,  the  bishop  had  sent, 
at  his  own  expense,  to  a  Continental  college.  They  were 
both  received  with  the  warmest  affection,  and,  so  far  as  the 
bishop  was  concerned,  with  every  expression  of  the  deepest 
gratitude.     The  situation  was  remote,  and  the  tumult  of 


192  WILLY   RBILLY. 

pursuit  did  not  reach  them.  Reilly  privately  forced  upon 
the  farmer  compensation  for  their  support,  under  a  solemn 
injunction  that  he  should  not  communicate  that  circum- 
stance to  the  bishop,  and  neither  did  he.  They  were  here, 
then,  comparatively  safe,  but  still  Reilly  dreaded  the  active 
vigilance  of  his  deadly  enemy,  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft.  He 
felt  that  a  disguise  was  absolutely  necessary,  and  that, 
without  it,  he  might  fall  a  sacrifice  to  the  diabolical  venge- 
ance of  his  powerful  enemy.  In  the  course  of  about  ten 
days  after  he  had  commissioned  Fergus  to  procure  him  the 
disguise,  he  resolved  to  visit  widow  Buckley,  in  order  to 
make  the  necessary  exchange  in  his  apparel.  He  accord- 
ingly set  out — very  foolishly  we  must  admit — in  open  day, 
to  go  to  the  widow's  house.  The  distance  was  some  miles. 
No  appearance  of  danger,  or  pursuit,  was  evident,  until  he 
came  to  the  sharp  angle  of  the  road,  where  he  was  met  by 
four  powerful  constables,  who  on  looking  at  him  immedi- 
ately surrounded  him  and  made  him  prisoner.  Resistance 
was  impossible ;  they  were  well  armed,  and  he  was  without 
any  weapon  with  which  he  could  defend  himself. 

"  We  have  a  warrant  for  your  apprehension,  sir,"  sai  i 
one  of  them. 

"  Upon  what  grounds  V  replied  Reilly.  "  I  am  conscious 
of  no  offence  against  the  laws  of  the  land.  Do  you  know 
who  I  ami  and  is  my  name  in  your  warrant?" 

"  No,  but  your  appearance  answers  completely  to  the 
description  given  in  the  Ilm  and  Cry.  Your  dress  is  the 
same  as  that  of  the  robber,  and  you  must  come  with  us  to 
the  sheriff  whom  you  have  robbed.  His  house  is  only  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  from  this." 

They  accordingly  proceeded  to  the  sheriffs  house,  whom 
they  found  at  home.  On  being  informed  that  they  had 
captured  the  man  who  had  robbed  him,  he  came  down 
stairs  with  great  alacrity,  and  in  a  spirit  replete  with  ven- 
geance against  the  robber.  The  sheriff,  however,  was 
really  a  good-natured  and  conscientious  man,  and  would 
not  lend  himself  to  a  dishonourable  act,  nor  had  he  ever 
been  known  to  do  so.  When  he  appeared,  Reilly  addressed 
him : 

"I  am  here,  sir,"  said  he,  "under  a  charge  of  having 
robbed  you.     The  charge  against  me  is  ridiculous.     I  am 


WILLY  REILLY.  193 

a  gentleman,  and  never  was  under  the  necessity  of  having 
recourse  to  such  unlawful  means  of  raising  money." 

"  Well,"  replied  the  sheriff,  "  your  dress  is  precisely  the 
same  as  the  fellow  wore  when  he  robbed  me.  But  I  feel 
confident  that  you  are  not  the  ~man.  Your  hair  is  black, 
his  was  red,  and  he  had  large  red  whiskers.  In  the  ex- 
citement and  agitation  of  the  moment,  I  forgot  to  mark  the 
villain's  features  distinctly  ;  but  I  have  since  thought  over 
the  matter,  and  I  say  that  I  would  now  know  him  if  I  saw 
him  again. — This,  however,"  he  added,  turning  to  the 
constables,  "is  not  the  person  who  robbed  and  beat  me 
down  from  my  horse." 

"But  he  may  be  Willy  Reilly,  sir,  for  all  that;  and  you 
know  the  reward  that  is  offered  for  his  apprehension." 

11 1  know  Willy  Reilly,"  replied  the  sheriff,  "  and  I  can 
assure  you  that  this  gentleman  is  not  Willy  Reilly.  Go, 
now,  continue  your  pursuit.  The  robber  lurks  somewhere 
in  the  neighbourhood.  You  know  the  reward  ;  catch  him, 
and  you  shall  have  it." 

The  constables  departed ;  and  after  they  had  gone,  the 
sheriff  said : 

"  Mr.  Reilly,  I  know  you  well ;  but  I  would  scorn  to 
avail  myself  of  the  circumstance  which  has  thus  occurred. 
I  am  aware  of  the  motive  which  urges  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft  against  you — so  is  the  whole  country.  That  penurious 
and  unprincipled  villain  is  thirsting  for  your  blood.  Mr. 
Hastings,  however,  has  a  rod  in  pickle  for  him,  and  he  will 
be  made  to  feel  it  in  the  course  of  time.  The  present 
administration  is  certainly  an  anti-Catholic  one;  but  I 
understand  it  is  tottering,  and  that  a  more  liberal  one  will 
come  in.  This  Whitecraft  has  succeeded  in  getting  some 
young  profligate  Catholics  to  become  Protestants,  who 
have,  consequently,  ousted  their  fathers  out  of  their  estates 
and  property  ;  younger  sons,  who,  by  this  act  of  treachery, 
will  get  the  estates  into  their  own  possession.  The  thing 
is  monstrous  and  unnatural.  But  let  that  pass ;  White- 
craft  is  on  your  trail  in  all  directions  ;  beware  of  him,  I  say ; 
and  I  think,  with  great  respect  to  you,  Mr.  Reilly,  it  is 
extremely  foolish  to  go  abroad  in  your  usual  apparel,  and 
without  disguise." 

"  Sir,"  replied   Reilly,   "  I  cannot  express,  as  I   would 

N 


VH  WILLY  REILLY. 

wish,  my  deep  gratitude  to  you  for  your  kindness  and 
forbearance.  That  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  is  thirsting  for 
my  blood  I  know.  The  cause  of  that  vengeance  is  now 
notorious." 

"  You  know  Mr.  Hastings,  Mr.  Reilly  ?" 

"  Intimately,  sir." 

"  He  took  your  property  in  his  own  name  1" 

"  He  did,  sir ;  he  purchased  it  in  his  own  name.  The 
property  was  hereditary  property,  and  when  my  title  to  it, 
in  point  of  law,  as  a  Catholic,  was  questioned,  and  when 
one  of  my  family,  as  a  Protestant,  put  in  his  claim  for  it, 
Mr.  Hastings  came  in  as  the  purchaser,  and  ousted  hira. 
The  money  was  supplied  by  me.  The  moment,  however, 
that  I  found  Whitecraft  was  after  me,  I  immediately  sur- 
rendered the  whole  of  it  back  to  him;  so  that  Sir  Robert, 
in  burning  what  he  considered  my  property,  in  fact  burned 
Mr.  Hastings'." 

"And  I  have  reason  to  know,  Mr.  Reilly,  that  it  will  be 
the  blackest  act  of  his  guilty  life.  This,  however,  I  men- 
tion to  you  in  the  strictest  confidence.  Keep  the  secret, 
for  if  it  transpired,  the  scoundrel  might  escape  from  the 
consequences  of  his  own  cruelty  and  oppression.  In  the 
meantime,  do  you  take  care  of  yourself — keep  out  of  his 
way,  and  as  I  said,  above  all  things,  procure  a  disguise. 
Let  the  consequences  be  what  they  may,  I  don't  think  the 
beautiful  Cooleen  Bawn  will  ever  marry  hitn." 

"  But,"  replied  Reilly,  "  is  there  no  risk  of  compulsion 
by  her  father?" 

"Why,  I  must  confess  there  is,"  replied  the  sheriff; 
"  he  is  obstinate  and  headstrong,  especially  if  opposed, 
and  she  will  find  it  necessary  to  oppose  him — and  she  will 
oppose  him.  I  myself  have  had  a  conversation  with  her 
on  the  subject,  and  she  is  firm  as  fate  against  such  a  union ; 
and  I  will  tell  you  more,  Reilly — it  was  she  who  principals- 
engaged  me  to  protect  you  as  far  as  I  could,  and  so  I  shall, 
you  may  rest  assured  of  it.  I  had  only  to  name  you  a  few 
minutes  ago,  and  your  fate  was  sealed.  But,  even  if  she 
had  never  spoken  to  me  on  the  subject,  I  could  not  lend 
myself  to  the  cruel  plots  of  that  villain.  God  knows,  in 
consequence  of  my  official  situation,  I  am  put  upon  tasks 
that  are  very  painful  to  me;  levying  fines  from  men  who 


WILLY   RE1LLY.  195 

are  harmless  and  inoffensive,  who  are  peaceable  members  of 
society,  who  teach  the  people  to  be  moral,  well  conducted, 
and  obedient  to  the  laws,  and  who  do  not  themselves 
violate  them.  Now,"  he  added,  "  be  advised  by  me,  and 
disguise  you  self." 

"  Sir,"  said  .Reilly,  "  your  sentiments  do  you  honour ;  I 
am  this  moment  on  my  way  to  put  on  a  disguise,  which 
has  been  procured  for  me.  I  agree  with  you  and  other 
friends,  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  remain  in 
the  country  in  my  own  natural  aspect  and  dress.  Allow 
me,  before  I  go,  to  express  my  sense  of  your  kindness,  and 
believe  me  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"  The  disguise  above  all  things,"  said  the  sheriff,  smiling 
and  holding  out  his  hand.  Reilly  seized  it,  with  a  warm 
pressure  ;  they  bid  each  other  farewell,  and  so  they  parted. 

Reilly  then  wound  his  way  to  the  cottage  of  Mrs. 
Buckley,  but  not  by  the  public  road.  He  took  across  the 
fields,  and,  in  due  time,  reached  her  humble  habitation. 
Here  he  found  the  disguise,  which  his  friend  Fergus  had 
provided — a  half-worn  frieze  coat,  a  half-worn  caubeen, 
and  a  half- worn  pair  of  corduroy  breeches,  clouted  brogues, 
and  Connemara  stockings,  also  the  worse  for  the  wear, 
with  two  or  three  coarse  shirts,  in  perfect  keeping  with  the 
other  portion  of  the  disguise. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Buckley,"  said  he,  "  how  have  you  been 
since  I  saw  you  last  V ' 

"Oh,  then,  Mr.  Reilry,"  said  she,  "it's  a  miracle  from 
God  that  you  did  not  think  of  stopping  here  !  I  had  several 
visits  from  the  sogers  who  came  out  to  look  for  you." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  so,  Mrs.  Buckley ;  but  it  was  one  com- 
fort that  they  did  not  find  me." 

"  God  be  praised  for  that !"  replied  the  poor  woman, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes ;  "  it  would  'a'  broken  my  heart,  if 
you  had  been  catched  in  my  little  place." 

"  But,  Mrs.  Buckley,"  said  Reilly,  "  were  there  any  plain 
clothes  left  for  me  here  ?' 

"  Oh,  indeed  there  was,  sir,"  she  replied,  "  and  I  have 
them  safe  for  you ;  but,  in  the  meantime,  I'll  go  outside, 
and  have  an  eye  about  the  country,  for  somehow  they  have 
taken  it  into  their  heads  that  this  would  be  a  very  likely 
place  to  find  you."  -  ,,< .,, 


196  WILLY  REILLY. 

While  she  was  oat,  Reilly  changed  his  dress,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  underwent  such  a  metamorphosis,  that  poor 
Mrs.  Buckley,  on  re-entering  the  house,  felt  quite  alarmed. 

"Heavenly  father,  my  good  man,  where  did  you  come 

from  ]  I  thought  I  left  Mr. "  here  she  stopped,  afraid 

to  mention  Reilly's  name. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  Mrs.  Buckley,"  said  Reilly,  "  I  am 
only  changed  in  outward  appearance :  I  am  your  true 
friend  still;  and  now  accept  this  for  your  kindness," 
placing  money  in  her  hand. 

"I  can't,  Mr.  Reilly;  you  are  under  the  persecutions, 
and  will  waut  all  the  money  you  have,  to  support  yourself. 
Didn't  the  thieves  of  the  devil  burn  you  out  and  rob  you, 
and  how  can  you  get  through  this  wicked  world  without 
money — keep  it  yourself,  for  I  don't  want  it." 

"Come,  come,  Mrs.  Buckley,  I  have  money  enough;  you 
must  take  this ;  I  only  ask  you  to  conceal  these  clothes  in 
some  place  where  the  hell-hounds  of  the  law  can't  find 
them.  And  now,  good-bye,  Mrs.  Buckley  ;  I  shall  take 
care  that,  whatever  may  happen  me,  you  shall  not  be  dis- 
turbed out  of  your  little  cabin  and  your  garden.'' 

The  tears  ran  down  the  poor  old  woman's  cheeks,  aud 
Reilly  left  her  sobbing  and  crying  behind  him.  Tni3 
indeed  was  an  eventful  day  to  him.  Strong  in  the  confi- 
dence of  his  disguise,  he  took  the  public  road,  and  had  not; 
gone  far  when  he  met  a  party  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft-'s, 
To  fly  would  have  been  instant  ruin ;  he  accordingly  com- 
menced an  old  Irish  song  at  the  very  top  of  his  lungs.  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft  was  not  himself  of  the  party,  but 
scarcely  any  individual  was  met  by  them  whom  they  did 
not  cross-examine. 

"Hollo,  my  good  fellow,"  said  the  leader  of  the  party, 
"  What  is  that  you're  singin'  V 

Reilly  stared  at  him,  like  a  man  who  was  sorely  puzzled ; 
"  Ha  neil  bearla  agum  ;''  that  is,  "  I  have  no  English." 

"Here,  Connor,  you  can  speak  Irish,  sift  this  able-bcUied 
tyke." 

A  conversation  in  that  language  then  took  place  between 
them,  which  reflected  everlasting  honour  upon  Connor, 
who  by  the  way,  was  one  of  Reilly's  tenants,  but  himself 
and  his  progenitors  were  Protestants  for  three  -eneratious. 


WILLY  REILLY.  197 

He  was  a  sharp,  keen  man,  bub  generous  and  honourable, 
and  after  two  or  three  glances  at  our  hero,  at  once  recog- 
nised him.  This  he  could  only  intimate  by  a  wink,  for  he 
knew  that  there  were  other  persons  there,  who  spoke  Irish 
as  well  as  either  of  them.  The  dialogue,  however,  was  not 
long,  neither  was  it  kind-hearted  Connor's  wish  that  it 
should  be  so.  He  was  asked,  however,  if  he  knew  any- 
thing about  Willy  Reilly,  tcr  which  he  replied,  that  he  did 
not,  only  by  all  accounts  he  had  left  the  country.  This, 
indeed,  was  the  general  opinion. 

"  This  blockhead,"  said  Connor,  "  knows  nothing  about 
him,  only  what  he  has  heard ;  he's  a  pig  dealer,  and  is  now 
on  his  way  to  the  fair  of  Sligo ;  come  on." 

They  passed  onwards,  and  Eeilly  resumed  his  journey 
and  his  song. 

On  reaching  the  farmer's  house  where  he  and  the  bishop 
lodged,  the  unhappy  prelate  felt  rather  annoyed  at  the 
appearance  of  a  stranger,  and  was  about  to  reprove  their 
host  for  his  carelessness  in  admitting  such  persons. 

"  What  do  you  want  here,  my  good  man  ?"  inquired  the 
farmer. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  say  anything  to  me  T  asked  the  bishop. 

"  A  few  words,"  replied  Keilly ;  but,  on  consideration, 
he  changed  his  purpose  of  playing  off  a  good-humoured 
joke  on  his  lordship  and  the  farmer.  For  the  melancholy 
prelate  he  felt  the  deepest  compassion  and  respect,  and 
apprehended  that  any  tampering  with  his  feelings  might 
be  attended  with  dangerous  consequences  to  his  intellect. 
He  ^consequently  changed  his  purpose,  and  added :  "  My 
lord,  don't  you  know  me  V' 

The  bishop  looked  at  him,  and  it  was  not  without  con- 
siderable scrutiny  that  he  recognised  him. 

In  the  meantime,  the  farmer,  who  had  left  the  room 
previous  to  this  explanation,  and  who  looked  upon  Reilly 
as  an  impostor,  or  a  spy,  returned  with  a  stout  oaken 
cudgel,  exclaiming,  "Now,  you  damned  desaver,  I  will 
give  you  a  jacketful  of  sore  bones  for  comin*  to  pry  about 
here.  This  gintleman  is  a  doctor ;  three  of  my  family  are 
lying  ill  of  faver,  and  that  you  may  catch  it  I  pray  gorra 
this  day !  but  if  you  won't  catch  that,  you'll  catch  this," 
and  he  whirled  the  cudgel  about  his  head,  and  most  un- 


198  WILLY  REILLY. 

questionably  it  would  have  descended  on  Reilly's  cranium, 
were  it  not  for  the  bishop,  who  interposed  and  prevented 
the  meditated  violence. 

"Be  quiet,  Kelly,"  said  he,  "be  quiet,  sir;  this  is  Mr. 
Reilly  disguised." 

"  Troth,  I  must  look  closely  at  him  first,"  replied  Kelly ; 
"  who  knows  but  he's  imposin'  upon  you,  Dr.  Wilson  T 

Kelly  then  looked  closely  into  his  face,  still  holding  a 
firm  grip  of  the  cudgel. 

"Why,  Kelly,"  said  Reilly,"" what  the  deuce  are  you  at? 
Don't  you  know  my  voice  at  least  ?" 

"  Well,"  replied  Kelly,  "bad  luck  to  the  like  o'  that  ever 
I  see.  Holy  Moses,  Mr.  Reilly,  but  you  had  a  narrow 
escape.  Devil  a  man  in  the  barony  can  handle  a  cudgel  as 
I  can,  and  it  was  a  miracle,  and  you  may  thank  his  lord- 
ship here  for  it,  that  you  hadn't  a  skirtful  of  sore  bones." 

"  Well,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Reilly,  "  put  up  your 
cudgel ;  I  really  don't  covet  a  skirtful  of  sore  bones ;  but 
after  all,  perhaps  you  would  have  found  my  fist  a  match 
for  your  cudgel." 

"  Nonsense,"  replied  Kelly ;  "  but  God  be  praised  that 
you  escaped  the  welting  anyhow ;  I  would  never  forgive 
myself,  and  you  the  friend  of  his  lordship." 

He  then  left  the  room,  his  terrific  cudgel  under  his  arm, 
and  Reilly,  after  his  absence,  related  to  the  bishop  the 
events  of  the  day,  involving,  as  they  did,  the  two  narrow 
escapes  which  he  had  had.  The  bishop  thanked  God,  and 
told  Reilly  to  be  of  good  courage,  for  that  he  thought  the 
hand  of  Providence  was  protecting  him. 

The  life  they  led  here  was,  at  all  events,  quiet  and 
peaceable.  The  bishop  was  a  man  of  singular,  indeed  of 
apostolic  piety.  He  spent  most  of  the  day  in  meditation 
and  prayer ;  fasting  beyond  the  powers  of  his  enfeebled 
constitution  ;  and  indeed  it  was  fortunate  that  Reilly  had 
accompanied  him,  for  so  ascetic  were  his  habits,  that  were 
it  not  for  his  entreaties,  and  the  influence  which  he  had 
gained  over  him,  it  is  not  at  all  unlikely  that  his  unfortu- 
nate malady  might  have  returned.  The  neighbourhood  in 
which  they  resided  was,  as  we  have  said,  remote,  and 
exclusively  Catholic ;  and  uptm  Sundays  the  bishop  cele- 
brated Mass  upon  a  little  grassy  platform — or  rather  in  a 


WILLY  EEILLV.  199 

little  cave,  into  which  it  led.  This  cave  was  small,  barely 
large  enough  to  contain  a  table,  which  served  as  a  tempo- 
rary altar — the  poor  shivering  congregation  kneeling  on 
the  platform  outside.  At  this  period  of  our  story,  all  the 
Catholic  chapels  and  places  of  worship  were,  as  we  have 
said,  closed  by  proclamation,  and  the  poor  people  were 
deprived  of  the  means  of  meeting  to  worship  God.  It  had 
soon,  however,  become  known  to  them  that  an  opportunity 
of  public  worship  was  to  be  had  every  Sunday,  at  the  place 
we  have  described.  Messengers  had  been  sent  among 
them  with  information  to  that  effect ;  and  the  consequence 
was,  that  they  not  only  kept  the  secret,  but  flocked  in  con- 
siderable numbers  to  attend  Mass.  On  the  Sunday  follow- 
ing the  adoption  of  Reilly's  disguise,  the  bishop  and  he 
proceeded  to  the  little  cave,  or  rather  cleft,  where  a  table 
had  been  placed,  together  with  the  vestments  necessary  for 
the  ceremony.  They  found  about  two  or  three  hundred 
persons  assembled — most  of  them  of  the  humblest  class. 
The  day  was  stormy  in  the  extreme.  It  was  a  hard  frost, 
and  the  snow,  besides,  falling  heavily — the  wind  strong, 
and  raging  in  hollow  gusts  about  the  place.  Tne  position 
of  the  table-altar,  however,  saved  the  bishop  and  the 
chalice,  and  the  other  matters  necessary  for  the  performance 
of  worship,  from  the  direct  fury  of  the  blast,  but  not  al- 
together; for  occasionally  a  whirlwind  would  come  up,  and 
toss  over  the  leaves  of  the  missal  in  such  a  way,  and  with 
such  violence,  that  the  bishop,  who  was  now  trembling 
from  the  cold,  was  obliged  to  lose  some  time  in  finding  out 
the  proper  passages.  It  was  a  solemn  sight  to  see  two  or 
three  hundred  persons  kneeling,  and  bent  in  prostrate  and 
heartfelt  adoration,  in  the  pious  worship  of  that  God  who 
sends  and  withholds  the  storm  ;  bareheaded,  too,  under  the 
piercing  drift  of  the  thick-falling  granular  snow,  and  think- 
ing of  nothing  but  their  own  sins,  and  that  gladsome 
opportunity  of  approaching  the  forbidden  altar  of  God,  now 
doubly  dear  to  them  that  it  was  forbidden.  As  the  cere- 
mony was  proceeding,  the  bishop  was  getting  on  to  that 
portion  of  the  sacred  rites  where  the  consecration  and 
elevation  of  the  Host  are  necessary,  and  it  was.  observed  by 
all  that  an  extraordinary  and  sudden  lull  took  place,  and 
that  the  rage  of  the  storm  had  altogether  ceased.     He 


200  WILLY   UEILLY. 

proceeded,  and  had  consecrated  the  Host — Hoc  est  corpus 
meum — when  a  cry  of  terror  arose  from  trie  affrighted 
congregation. 

"My  lord,  fly,  and  save  yourself!  Captain  Smellpriest 
and  his  gang  are  upon  us." 

The  bishop  never  once  turned  round,  nor  seemed  to  hear 
them;  but  Reilly  did,  and  saw  that  the  whole  congregation 
had  fled,  and  that  there  only  remained  the  bishop  and 
himself. 

"  Our  day  of  doom,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  is  come.  No- 
thing now  can  save  us." 

Still  the  bishop  proceeded  undisturbed,  in  the  worship 
of  the  Almighty  ;  when  lo!  the  military  party,  headed  and 
led  on  by  the  notorious  Captain  Smellpriest,  came  thunder- 
ing up,  the  captain  exclaiming  : 

"You  idolatrous  Papist,  stop  that  mummery—  or  you 
shall  have  twelve  bullets  in  your  heart  before  half  a 
minute's  time." 

The  bishop  had  consecrated  the  Host,  as  we  have  said, 
but  had  not  yet  had  time  to  receive  it. 

"Men,"  said  Smellpriest,  "you  are  all  primed  and  loaded. 
Present." 

They  accordingly  did  so  :  every  musket  was  levelled  at 
him.  The  bishop  now  turned  round,  and  with  the  calmness 
of  a  martyr — a  calmness  and  conduct  that  were  sublime — 
he  said : 

"Sir,  I  am  engaged  in  the  worship  of  the  Eternal  God, 
and  if  you  wish  to  shed  my  blood  I  should  rather  it  were 
here  and  now  than  in  any  other  place.  Give  me  but  a  few 
minutes — I  do  not  ask  more." 

"  Oh,"  said  Smellpriest,  "we  will  give  you  ten,  if  you  wish 
it,  and  the  more  so  because  we  are  sure  of  you." 

When  the  bishop  turned  round  again,  after  having 
received  the  Host,  his  pale  face  had  altogether  changed  its 
complexion — it  burned  with  an  expression  which  it  is 
difficult  to  describe.  A  lofty  sense  of  the  sacrifice  he  was 
about  to  make  was  visible  in  his  kindling  and  enthusiastic 
eye  ;  his  feeble  frame,  that  had  been,  during  the  ceremony 
of  Mass,  shivering  under  the  effects  of  the  terrible  storm 
that  howled  around  them,  now  became  firm,  and  not  the 
slightest  mark  of  fear  or  terror  was  visible  in  his  bearing ; 


WILLY  REILLY.  231 

calmly  and  undauntedly  he  turned  round,  and  with  a 
voice  full  and  steady  he  said  : 

"  I  am  willing  to  die  for  my  religion,  but  I  say  to  you, 
that  the  slaughter  of  an  inoffensive  man,  at  the  foot  of 
God's  altar,  will  not  smooth  the  pillow  of  your  death-bed, 
nor  of  those  who  shoot  down  a  minister  of  God,  while  in 
the  act  of  worshipping  his  Creator.  My  congregation,  poor 
timid  creatures,  have  fled,  but,  as  for  me,  I  will  not !  I 
dare  not !     Here  now,  I  spread  out  my  arms — fire !" 

"  I  also,"  said  Reilly,  "  will  partake  of  whatever  fate  may 
befall  the  venerable  clergyman  who  is  before  you,"  and  he 
stood  up  side  by  side  with  the  bishop. 

The  guns  were  still  levelled,  the  fingers  of  the  men  on 
the    triggers,    when    Smellpriest    shouted    out,    "Ground 

arms!" — "By ,"  says  he,  "here  is  a  new  case;  this 

fellow  has  spunk  and  courage,  and  curse  me,  although  I 
give  the  priests  a  chase  wherever  I  can,  still  I  am  a  soldier, 
and  a  man  of  courage,  and  to  shoot  down  a  priest  in  the 
worship  of  God  would  be  cowardly.  No,  I  can't  do  it — 
nor  I  won't ;  I  like  pluck,  and  this  priest  has  shown  it. 
Had  he  taken  to  his  heels,  by he  would  have  had  half- 
a-dozen  bullets  in  his  rear,  but,  as  I  said,  I  like  pluck,  and 
on  that  account,  we  shall  pass  him  by  this  time.     To  the 

right  about.     As  to  the  clerk,  by he  has  showed  pluck 

too,  but,  be-hanged  to  him,  what  do  we  care  about  him  ?' 

We  must  say  a  word  or  two  here  about  Smellpriest.  He 
was,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  a  priest-hunter ;  but  yet, 
with  all  his  bigotry,  he  was  a  brave  man,  and  could 
appreciate  courage  wherever  he  found  it.  The  reader 
already  knows  that  his  range  of  persecution  was  by  no 
means  either  so  wide  or  so  comprehensive  as  that  of  the 
coward  Whitecraft.  He  was  a  dashing,  outspoken  fellow, 
with  an  equal  portion  of  boisterous  foily  and  mischief ; 
whereas  Whitecraft  was  a  perfect  snake — treacherous, 
cruel,  persevering  in  his  enmity,  and  unrelenting  in  his 
vengeance.  Such  was  the  difference  in  the  character  of 
these  two  worthies. 

After  Smellpriest  had  drawn  off  his  men,  the  bishop 
concluded  the  ceremony  of  the  Mass  ;  but  when  he  turned 
round  to  announce  its  conclusion  in  the  words,  Ite,  missa 
est,  there  was  not  a  soul  before  him,  the  terrified  congrega- 


202  WILLY   REILLY. 

tion,  as  we  have  said,  having  all  betaken  themselves  to 
flight.  Reilly  then  assisted  him  to  unrobe,  and  placed  the 
vestments,  the  chalice,  pix,  and  everything  connected  with 
the  ceremony,  in  a  pair  of  saddle-bags,  which  belonged  to 
the  parish  priest,  whose  altar  was  then  closed,  as  we  said, 
by  proclamation. 

Reilly  and  the  bishop  then  proceeded  to  the  farmer's 
house,  Reilly  carrying  the  saddle-bags,  and  as  they  went 
along,  the  following  conversation  took  place  between  them  : 
"  My  lord,"  said  his  companion,  "  if  I  might  presume  to 
advise  you,  I  think  it  would  be  more  prudent  for  you  to 
retire  to  the  Continent  for  a  time.  This  ferocious  captain, 
who,  subdued  by  the  sublime  tenor  of  your  conduct,  spared 
you  on  this  occasion,  may  not  under  other  and  less  impres- 
sive circumstances,  exercise  a  similar  forbearance." 

"  But,  my  dear  Reilly,"  replied  the  bishop,  in  a  tone  of 
deep  melancholy,  "  I  am  not  in  circumstances  to  go  to  the 
Continent ;  1  am  poor;  most  of  my  available  money  I  have 
distributed  among  the  unhappy  people,  until  I  am  now 
nearly  as  poor  as  themselves ;  but,  independently  of  that, 
I  do  not  think  it  would  be  right  to  abandon  the  charge 
which  God  has  entrusted  to  my  keeping.  Tne  shepherd 
should  not  desert  his  flock,  especially  in  the  moment  of 
danger,  when  the  wolves  are  abroad." 

11  But,  my  lord,"  replied  Reilly,  "  under  the  present  cir- 
cumstances of  the  country,  your  residence  here  can  be  of 
no  service  to  them.  The  chapels  are  all  closed,  and  public 
worship  forbidden  by  law.  This  cannot,  and,  I  hope  will 
not,  last  long;  but  in  the  meantime,  think  if  it  be  not 
wiser  in  you  to  go  for  a  time  into  what  I  may  call  a  volun- 
tary exile,  than  be  forced  into  banishment  by  a  cruel  edict 
of  the  law,  as  you  will  be  if  you  should  be  discovered." 

"  There  is  great  truth  in  what  you  say,  my  dear  Reilly, 
and  on  thinking  over  the  circumstances  of  the  country,  I 
am  indeed  of  opinion  that  your  advice  is  good ;  but, 
unfortunately,  my  present  poverty  prevents  me  from  acting 
on  it." 

"  But  that  shall  not  be,  my  lord  ;  I  have  the  means — 
amply,  too — of  enabling  your  loidship  to  withdraw  to  the 
Continent,  where  you  can  remain  quite  safe  until  better 
times  return,  as  I  hope  in  God  they  will  soon." 


WILLY    EEILLY.  20 o 

"  And  yourself,  Eeilly  1  why  not  accompany  me  1  You, 
it  is  said,  are  outlawed;  why,  then,  remain  in  a  country 
where  your  danger  is  still  greater  than; mine?" 

"My  lord," replied  Eeilly,  "do  not  press  me  on  that  subject.'' 

"I  do  not  wish  to  do  so,  Eeilly;  but  here  are  the  cir- 
cumstances :  you  and  the  beautiful  daughter  of  that  old 
squire  are  attached — in  other  words,  you  love  each  other 
passionately.  Now,  you  know,  marriage  is  impossible,  un- 
less you  should  abandon  the  creed  of  your  fathers." 

"  I  think,  my  lord,"  replied  Eeilly,  in  a  very  serious  and 
somewhat  offended  tone,  "  that  my  conduct  this  day,  and 
within  the  last  half  hour,  was  not  that  of  a  man  likely  to 
abandon  the  creed  of  his  fathers." 

"  Certainly  not — most  certainly  not,"  replied  the  bishop. 
';  I  would  have  died  this  day  for  my  religion,  and  so  would 

you." 

"  And  so  would  I  certainly,  my  lord,  any  day,  sooner 
than  renounce  it  for  the  love  of  woman.  So  far  let  your 
lordship's  mind  be  at  rest.  But  in  the  meaotime,  let  me 
impress  upon  your  lordship's  consideration,  the  absolute 
necessity  of  retiring  to  the  Continent  for  a  time.  Your 
lordship's  charity  has  made  you  poor ;  but,  thank  God,  I 
am  not  poor — but  in  a  position  to  place  £200  in  your 
hands  to  enable  you  to  bear  the  expenses  of  your  voyage, 
and  to  maintain  your  ecclesiastical  rank  and  position,  for  a 
time,  when  you  get  there." 

"  Oh,"  replied  the  bishop,  "  if  I  were  once  there,  very 
little  money  would  be  necessary ;  I  could  almost  imme- 
diately get  a  professorship  of  divinity,  especially  in  the 
College  of  Louvain,  where  I  held  a  professorship  for  several 
years." 

It  was  arranged  that  the  bishop  should  go,  at  least  until 
the  times  should  change,  and  in  the  course  of  a  week, 
Eeilly  having  furnished  him  with  the  necessary  funds,  he 
depaited  and  reached  the  Continent  in  safety. 

Their  separation  was  extremely  affecting.  The  bishop 
we,  t  bitterly,  not  only  in  consequence  of  his  parting  with 
Eeilly,  but  sdll  more,  because  he  was  forced  to  separate 
himself  from  his  flock.  Eeilly  was  deeply  affected,  nor 
couid  he  restrain  his  tears.  The  bishop  put  his  hand  on 
his  head,  and  blessed  him.     "I  feel,"  said  he,  "as  if  it 


204  WILLY   REILLY. 

were  a  prophetic  impulse,  that  God  will  bring  you  out  of 
the  tribulations  that  encompass  you.  Forget  not  His  Word 
nor  His  Law ;  love  and  adhere  to  your  religion  ;  be  guided 
by  its  precepts,  let  them  sink  deeply  into  your  heart.  Take 
care,  also,  that  the  love  of  woman  shall  not  seduce  you 
from  your  allegiance  to  our  Cnurch.  And  now,  may  the 
Almighty  God  bless  and  protect  you,  and  rescue  you  from 
the  hands  and  the  snares  of  your  enemies  !"  And  so  they 
parted. 

No  stronger  proof  could  exist,  so  far  as  the  Cooleen  Bawn 
was  concerned,  than  her  extraordinary  power  of  conciliating 
love  and  attachment  from  all  who  approached  her,  or  were 
engaged  in  attending  upon  her  person.  The  singular  soft- 
ness of  her  sweet  and  mellow  voice  was  in  itself  an  ex- 
ponent of  the  remarkable  suavity  and  benignity  of  her 
disposition.  la  fact,  she  carried  a  charm  about  her — an 
atmosphere  of  kindness  and  benevolence  that  no  human 
being  who  came  within  its  influence  could  resist.  Her 
smile  was  a  perfect  fascination,  which,  in  addition  to  her 
elegance  of  form — her  grace  and  harmony  of  motion — her 
extensive  charity — her  noble  liberality  of  sentiment — and, 
above  all,  her  dazzling  beauty,  constituted  a  character 
which  encircled  her  with  admiration  and  something  almost 
bordering  on  worship. 

At  this  time  a  scheme  came  into  the  fertile  brain  of 
Whitecraft,  worthy  of  being  concocted  only  in  the  iufernal 
pit  itself.  This  was  to  prevail  on  the  squire  to  remove 
her  faithful,  attached,  and  confidential  maid,  Ellen  Connor, 
from  about  her  person,  under  the  plea  that  as,  unfortu- 
nately, Miss  Folliard  had  been  seduced  into  an  affection 
for  Reilly,  it  was  not  only  probable  that  her  attendant  had 
originated  and  encouraged  her  passion,  but  that  it  was  also 
likely  that,  as  Heilly  was  a  Catholic,  Connor,  the  confidant, 
being  herself  of  that  persuasion,  might  so  work  upon  the 
feelings  and  principles  of  his  daughter  as  to  induce  her,  for 
the  sake  of  the  more  easily  bringing  about  their  marriage, 
to  abandon  her  own  religion,  and  embrace  that  of  her 
lover.  The  old  man  became  instantly  alarmed,  and,  with 
his  usual  fiery  impetuosity,  lost  not  a  moment  in  dismissing 
her  altogether  from  his  family. 


WILLY  HEILLY.  203 

When  this  faithful  girl  found  that  she  was  about  to  be 
separated  from  her  fair  and  affectionate  young  mistress,  no 
language  could  depict  the  violence  of  her  grief,  nor  could 
that  mistress  herself  refuse  the  tribute  of  her  tears  to  her 
sense  of  the  loss  which  she  knew  she  must  sustain  by  her 
absence  at  a  crisis  when  she  stood  so  much  in  need  of  her 
friendship  and  attachment. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  not  for  myself,  my  dear  mistress,  that  I  feel 
this  grief,"  exclaimed  Connor,  weeping  bitterly  as  she 
spoke,  "  but  for  you.  Here  you  will  be  alone,"  she  pro- 
ceeded, "  without  one  being  on  whom  you  can  depend,  or 
to  whom  you  can  open  your  heart — for  many  a  time  you 
eased  that  poor  heart  by  telling  me  of  your  love  for  him, 
and  by  dweilin'  upon  his  accomplishments  and  beauty — 
and,  indeed,  it's  no  wonder  you  should,  for  where,  oh  1 
where  is  his  aiquil  to  be  found  1  Like  yourself,  every  one 
that  cornea  near  him  must  love  him;  and,  like  you,  again, 
isn't  he  charity  itself  to  the  poor,  no  matter  what  their 
creed  may  be- — oh,  no  !  it's  he  that  is  neither  the  bigot  nor 
the  oppressor,  although  God  he  knows  what  he  himself  is 
sufferin'  from  both.  God's  curse  on  that  blasted  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft !  I  declare  to  mercy,  I  think,  if  I  was 
a  man,  that  I'd  shoot  him,  like  a  mad  dog,  and  free  the 
country  of  him  at  wanst." 

The  Cooleen  was  herself  in  tears,  occasioned  by  such  a 
glowing  picture  of  her  lover,  as  well  as  by  the  loss  of  this 
faithful  and  devoted  girl.  Yet  she  could  not  repress  a 
smile  at  the  indignation  expressed  by  Ellen  against  the 
man  whom  she  looked  upon  with  such  detestation  and 
abhorrence. 

"My  dear  Ellen,"  said  she,  drying  her  tears,  "we  must 
only  have  patience.  Every  thing  is  in  the  hands  of  God, 
and  in  Him  let  us  trust.  Do  not  weep  so.  It  is  true  that, 
without  your  society,  I  shall  feel  as  if  I  were  in  a  desert,  or 
rather  I  should  say,  in  a  dungeon  ;  for,  indeed,  I  fear  that 
I  am  about  to  become  a  prisoner  in  my  father's  house,  and 
entangled  more  and  more  every  day  in  the  meshes  of  that 
detestable  villain.  In  the  meantime,  we  must,  as  I  said, 
have  courage  and  patience,  and  trust  to  a  change  of  circum- 
stances for  better  times." 

"May  the  Lord  in  Heaven  grant  them  soon  and  sudden, 


206  WILLY   REILLY. 

for    both    your   sakes,"    ejaculated   Ellen.      "  I   pray   the 
Saviour  that  He  may  !" 

"But,  Ellen,"  said  the  Cooleen,  "didn't  you  hint  to  me,  ence 
or  twice,  that  you  yourself  have,  or  had,  a  lover  named  Reilly  ?" 

"  I  did,"  she  replied,  "  not  that  I  have,  but  that  I  had— 
and,  what  is  more,  an  humble  and  distant  relation  of  his." 

"  You  say  you  had.  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Eihn  ? 
Have  you,  too,  experienced  your  crosses  and  calamities  ?" 

"Indeed,  ma'am,  I  have  had  my  share  ;  and  I  know  too 
well  what  it  is  to  have  the  heart  within  as  full  of  sorrow, 
and  all  but  broken." 

"  Why,  my  poor  girl,  and  have  you  too  experienced  dis- 
appointment and  affliction  ]" 

"God,  ma'am,  has  given  me  my  share ;  but,  in  my  casp, 
the  affliction  was  greater  than  the  disappointment,  although 
that,  too,  came  soon  enough  upon  me." 

"  Why,  did  not  the  affliction,  in  your  case,  proceed  from 
the  disappointment  V- 

"  Not  exactly,  Miss,  but  indeed  partly  it  did.  It's  but  a 
short  story,  my  dear  mistress,  and  I'll  tell  it  to  yon. 
Fergus  is  his  name — Fergus  O'Reilly.  His  father,  for  doin' 
something  or  other  contrary  to  the  laws — harbourin'  some 
outlaw,  I  believe,  that  was  a  relation  of  his  own,  and  who 
was  found  by  the  army  in  his  house — well,  his  father,  a 
very  ould  man,  was  taken  prisoner,  and  put  into  gaol, 
where  he  died  before  they  could  try  him  ;  and  well  it  was 
he  did  so,  for,  by  all  accounts,  they'd  have  transported  or 
hanged  the  poor  ould  man,  who  was  then  passed  seventy. 
Now,  over  and  above  that,  they'd  have  done  the  same 
thing  with  his  son  Fergus,  but  that  he  disappeared,  and  but 
few  knows  what  became  of  him." 

"  Why,  did  he  go  without  having  had  an  interview  with 
you  V*  asked  the  Cooleen. 

"Indeed  he  did,  Miss,  and  small  blame  to  him;  for  the 
truth  is,  he  had  little  time  for  leave-takin' — it  was  as  much 
as  he  could  do  to  make  his  escape,  which,  thank  God,  he 
did.  But,  indeed,  I  oughtn't  to  thank  God  for  it,  I  doubt, 
because  it  would  have  been  better,  and  ten  times  more 
creditable  to  himself,  if  he  had  been  transported,  or  hanged 
itself — for  that,  ma'am,  is  many  a  good  man's  case,  as  eveiy 
one  knows." 


WILLY  REILLY.  207 

{!  I  agree  with  you,  Ellen.  There  is,  indeed,  a  most 
essential  difference  between  flagitious  crimes,  such  as  theft, 
robbery,  murder,  and  other  dreadful  outrages  of  that 
character,  and  those  which  may  be  termed  offences  arising 
from  political  opinions,  which  are  often  honestly  enter- 
tained by  individuals  who,  in  all  the  relations  of  life,  are 
sometimes  the  most  exemplary  members  of  society.  But 
proceed,  Ellen — what  was  the  result?' 

Poor  Ellen's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  could  scarcely 
summon  composure  enough  to  reply : 

"Worse  than  transportation  or  even  death,  my  clear 
mistress ;  oh  !  far  worse — guilt  and  crime.  Yes ;  he  that 
had  gained  my  affections,  and  gave  me  his,  joined  the  Red 
Rapparee  and  his  gang,  and  became — a  robber!  I  was 
goin'  to  say  an  outlaw,  but  he  was  that  before  he  joined 
them,  because  he  wouldn't  submit  to  the  laws — that  is, 
wouldn't  submit  to  be  transported,  or  maybe  hanged — for 
you  know,  ma'am,  how  little  a  thing  it  is  that  will  either 
hang  or  transport  any  one  of  our  unfortunate  creed,  now.7' 

"  Alas !  my  dear  Ellen,  you  forget  that  I  am  a  living 
witness  of  it,  and  an  afflicted  one;  but  proceed.  Have  you 
ever  seen  your  lover  since1?" 

"  I  did,  ma'am,  but  at  that  time  he  mentioned  nothing 
about  his  havin'  joined  the  Rapparees.  He  came,  he  said, 
to  bid  me  farewell,  and  to  tell  me  that  he  wasn't  worthy  of 
me.  'The  stain  that's  upon  me,'  said  he,  'draws  a  gulf 
between  you  and  me,  that  neither  of  us  can  ever  pass.'  He 
could  scarcely  speak,  but  he  dashed  away  the  tears  that 
came  to  his  eyes — and — and — so  he  took  his  departure. 
Now,  my  dear  young  mistress,  you  see  how  well  I  can 
understand  your  case,  and  the  good  reason  I  have  to  feel 
for  you,  as  I  do,  and  ever  will,  until  God,  in  His  mercy, 
may  set  you  both  free  from  what  you're  sufferin'." 

"  But,  are  you  certain,  Ellen,  that  he  actually  has  joined 
the  Rapparees  V 

"  Too  sure,  ma'am---too  sure ;  my  father  had  it  in  private 
from  his  own  lips,  for,  as  the  poor  boy  said,  he  hadn't  the 
courage  himself  to  tell  me." 

"  But,  Ellen,"  asked  Miss  Folliard,  "  where  had  you  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  and  becoming  acquainted  with  this 
young  man  %     You  surely  could  not  have  known  him,  or 


208  WILLY  REILLY. 

conceived  an  attachment  for  him,  previous  to  your  coming 
to  reside  with  us  T 

"  Oh,  no,  ma'am,5'  replied  Ellen  ;  "  it  was  at  my  father's 
I  became  acquainted  with  him,  principally  whenever  I  got 
lave  to  spend  a  Sunday  at  home.  And  now,  my  dear 
mistress,"  she  proceeded,  sobbing,  "  I  must  go — your  poor, 
faithful  Ellen  will  never  let  you,  nor  the  thought  of  your 
sorrows,  out  of  her  heart.  All  she  can  do  now  is  to  give 
you  her  prayers  and  her  tears.  Farewell !  my  darlin' 
mistress — may  the  blessing  of  God  guard  and  prosper  you 
both,  and  bring  you  to  the  happiness  you  deserve."  She 
wept  bitterly  as  she  concluded. 

"Ellen,"  replied  her  mistress,  and  she  paused — "Ellen," 
said  she  again — she  would,  indeed,  have  spoken,  but,  after 
a  silent  struggle,  she  covered  her  eyes  with  her  handker- 
chief, and  was  fairly  carried  away  by  her  emotions — 
"Ellen,"  said  she,  taking  her  hand,  and  recovering  herself, 
"be  of  courage  ;  let  neither  of  us  despair — a  brighter  light 
may  shine  on  our  path  yet.  Perhaps  I  may  have  it  in  my 
power  to  befriend  you,  hereafter.  Farewell,  Ellen  ;  and  if 
I  can  prevail  on  my  father  to  bring  you  back,  I  will." 
And  so  they  parted. 

Connor's  father  was  a  tenant  of  the  squire's,  and  held 
rather  a  comfortable  farm  of  about  eighteen  or  twenty 
acres.  Ellen  herself  had,  when  very  young,  been,  by  some 
accident  or  other,  brought  within  the  notice  of  Mrs. 
Folliard,  who,  having  been  struck  by  her  vivacity,  neatness 
of  figure,  and  good  looks,  begged  permission  from  her 
parents  to  take  the  little  girl  under  her  care,  and  tram  her 
up  to  wait  upon  her  daughter.  She  had  now  been  eight 
years  in  the  squire's  family — that  is,  since  her  fourteenth — 
and  was  only  two  older  than  the  Cooleen  Bairn,  who  was 
now,  and  had  been  for  the  last  three  years,  her  only 
mistress.  She  had  consequently  grown,  as  it  Avere,  into  all 
her  habits,  and  we  may  justly  say  that  there  was  not  an 
individual  in  existence  who  had  a  better  opportunity  of 
knowing  and  appreciating  her  good  qualities  and  virtues ; 
and,  what  was  much  to  her  honour,  she  never  for  a  moment 
obtruded  her  own  private  sorrows  upon  the  ear  or  heart  ©f 
her  mistress,  who,  she  saw,  had  a  sufficient  number  of  her 
own  to  bear. 


WILL*  ItEILLY.  2J9 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  she  took  farewell  of  her 
mistress,  and  twilight  had  come  on  ere  she  had  got  within 
half  a  mile  of  her  father's  house.  On  crossing  a  stile  which 
led,  by  a  pathway,  to  the  little  hamlet  in  which  her  father 
lived,  she  was  both  surprised  and  startled  by  perceiving 
Fergus  Eeilly  approach  her.  He  was  then  out  of  his 
disguise,  and  dressed  in  his  own  clothes,  for  he  could  not 
prevail  upon  himself  to  approach  her  father's  house,  or 
appear  before  any  of  the  family,  in  the  tattered  garb  of  a 
mendicant.  On  this  occasion  he  came  to  tell  them  that  he 
had  abandoned  the  gang  of  the  Red  Rapparee,  and  come  to 
the  resolution  of  seeking  his  pardon  from  the  Government, 
having  been  informed  that  it  offered  protection  to  all  who 
would  come  in  and  submit  to  the  laws,  provided  they  had 
not  been  guilty  of  shedding  human  blood.  This  intelli- 
gence, however,  was  communicated  to  the  family,  as  a 
means  of  preparing  them  for  still  more  important  informa- 
tion upon  the  subject  of  his  own  liberty — a  matter  with 
which  the  reader  will  soon  become  acquainted,  as  he  will 
with  the  fact  of  his  having  left  off  his  disguise  only  for  a 
brief  period.  In  the  meantime,  he  felt  perfectly  conscious 
of  the  risk  he  ran  of  a  failure  in  the  accomplishment  of  his 
own  project,  by  throwing  off  his  disguise,  and  was  then 
hastening  on  his  way  to  the  cottai^e  of  widow  Buckley, 
where  he  had  left  his  mendicant  apparel  for  the  time  being. 

When  Ellen  saw  him,  she  felt  a  tumult  in  her  bosom 
which  almost  overcame  her.  Her  heart  palpitated  almost 
audibly,  and  her  knees  became  feeble  under  her.  There 
was  something  so  terrible  associated  with  the  idea  of  a 
Rapparee,  that  she  took  it  for  granted  that  some  frightful 
transformation  of  person  and  character  must  have  taken 
place  in  him,  and  that  she  wouid  now  meet  a  man 
thoroughly  imbued  with  all  the  frightful  and  savage  vices 
which  were  so  frequently,  and  too  often  so  generally  attri- 
buted to  that  fierce  and  formidable  class.  Still,  the  re- 
collection of  their  former  affection,  and  her  knowledge  of 
the  oppression  which  had  come  upon  himself  and  his 
family,  induced  her  to  hope  that  the  principles  of  humanity 
could  not  have  been  altogether  effaced  from  his  heart. 
Full  of  doubt  and  anxiety,  therefore,  she  paused  at  the 
slile,  against  which  she  felt  it  necessary  to  lean  for  support, 

o 


210  WILLY  REILLY. 

not  without  a  touch  of  interest  and  somewhat  of  curiosity, 
to  control  the  vague  apprehensions  which  she  could  not 
help  feeling.  We  need  scarcely  inform  the  reader  that  the 
meeting  on  both  sides  was  accidental  and  unexpected. 

"  Heavenly  Father  !"  exclaimed  Ellen,  in  a  voice  tremb- 
ling with  agitation,  "is  this  Fergus  O'Reilly  that  I  see 
before  me?  Fergus,  ruined  and  undone!"  She  then 
looked  cautiously  about  her,  and  added,  "  Fergus,  the 
Eapparee  /" 

"  God  bless  me  !"  he  exclaimed,  in  return,  "  and  may  I 
ask,  is  this  Ellen  Connor  on  my  path  V 

il  Well,  I  think  I  may  say  so,  in  one  sense.  Sure  enough, 
I  am  Ellen  Connor ;  but,  unfortunately,  not  the  Ellen 
Connor  that  you  wanst  knew ;  neither,  unfortunately  again, 
are  you  the  Fergus  O'Reilly  that  /  wanst  knew.  We  are 
both  changed,  Fergus — I  into  sorrow,  and  you  into  crime." 

"  Ellen,"  said  he,  nearly  as  much  agitated  as  herself,  "  I 
stand  before  you  simply  as  Fergus  O'Reilly,  but  not  Fergus 
the  Rapparee." 

'•'You  will  not  deny  your  own  words  to  my  father,"  she 
replied. 

"  No,  Ellen,  I  will  not — they  were  true  then,  but,  thank 
God,  they  are  not  true  now." 

"  How  is  that,  Fergus  V 

"  Simply  because  I  ivas  a  Rapparee  when  I  spoke  to  your 
father ;  but  I  have  left  them,  once  and  for  ever." 

"  How  long  have  you  left  them1?" 

"Ever  since  that  night.  If  it  were  not  for  Reilly  and 
those  that  were  out  with  him  duck-shooting,  the  red  villain 
would  have  murdhered  the  squire  and  Andy  Cummiskey, 
as  sure  as  there  is  life  in  my  body.  After  all,  it  is  owin' 
to  Mr.  Reilly  that  I  left  him  and  his  cursed  crew.  And 
now,  Ellen,  that  I  have  met  you,  let  me  spake  to  you 
about  ould  times.  In  the  first  place,  I  am  heart  sorry  for 
the  step  I  took;  but  you  know  it  was  oppression  and 
persecution  that  drove  me  to  it." 

"Fergus,"  she  replied,  "that's  no  excuse.  Persecution 
may  come  upon  us,  but  that's  no  reason  why  we  should 
allow  it  to  drive  us  into  evil  and  crime.  Don't  you  know 
that  it's  such  conduct  that  justifies  the  persecutors  in  their 
own  eyes  and  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.     What  will  become 


WILLY  REILLY.  21] 

of  you  now  ?  If  you're  caught,  you  must  die  a  shameful 
death."  ' 

"  Devil  a  fear  of  it,  my  darlin'  Ellen.  I  could  tell  you 
something,  if  I  thought  myself  at  liberty  to  do  so — some- 
thing, mavourneen,  that  'ud  give  you  a  light  heart." 

"Indeed,  Fergus,  I  don't  wish  to  hear  any  of  your 
secrets.  It's  my  opinion  they  would  not  be  fit  for  me  to 
hear.  But  in  the  mane  time,"  she  added— prompted  by 
the  undying  principle  of  female  curiosity,  and,  let  us  add, 
a  better  and  more  generous  feeling — "in  the  mane  time, 
Fergus,  if  it's  anything  about  yourself,  and  that  it  would 
give  me  a  light  heart,  as  you  say  it  would,  and  that  there 
is  nothing  wrong  and  dishonourable  in  it,  I  would,  for  your 
sake,  be  glad  to  hear  it." 

"  Well  then,  Ellen,  I  will  tell  it ;  but  it  must,  for  reasons 
that  there's  no  use  in  mentionin'  to  you,  be  a  secret 
between  us,  for  some  time — not  a  long  time,  I  hope.  I 
am,  thank  God,  free  as  the  air  of  heaven,  and  may  walk 
abroad,  openly,  in  the  face  of  day,  if  I  like,  without  any 
one  darin'  to  ask  me  a  question." 

"  But,  Fergus,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  don't  undherstand  this. 
You  were  a  robber — a  Rapparee — and  now  you  are  a  free 
man.  But  what  did  you  do  to  deserve  this  at  the  hands  of 
the  Government  V 

"Don't  be  alarmed,  my  darlin'  Ellen — nothing  unbe- 
comin'  an  honest  man." 

"  I  hope,"  she  proceeded — her  cheeks  mantling  with  in- 
dignation and  scorn — "  I  hope,  Fergus,  you  wouldn't  think 
of  stoopin'  to  treachery  against  the  unfortunate,  ay,  or 
even  against  the  guilty.  I  hope  you  wouldn't  sell  yourself 
to  the  Government,  and  get  your  liberty,  afther  all,  only  as 
a  bribe  for  villany,  instead  of  a  free  gift." 

"  See,  now,"  he  returned,  "  what  I  have  brought  on  my- 
self, by  tellin'  you  anything  at  all  about  it — a  regular  ould 
house  on  my  shoulders.  No,  darlin',"  he  proceeded,  "  you 
ought  to  know  me  better." 

"Oh,  Fergus,"  she  replied  quickly,  "I  thought  I  knew 
you  wanst." 

"  Is  that  generous,  Ellen,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  deep  and 
melancholy  feeling,  "afther  statin'  my  sorrow  for  that 
step?" 


212  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  Well,"  she  replied,  moved  by  what  she  saw  he  suffered 
in  consequence  of  her  words,  "if  I  have  given  you  pain, 
Fergus,  forgive  me — you  know  it's  not  in  my  nature  to 
give  pain  to  any  one,  but,  above  all  persons  in  the  world, 
to  you." 

"  Well,  darlin',"  said  he,  "  you  will  know  all  in  time ; 
but  there  is  a  good  deal  to  be  done  yet.  All  I  can  say, 
and  all  I  will  say,  is,  that  if  God  spares  me  life,  I  will  take 
away  one  of  the  blackest  enemies  that  Willy  Reilly  and  the 
Cooleen  Bawn  has  in  existence.  He  would  do  anything 
that  the  villain  of  perdition  he's  a  slave  to  would  bid  him. 
Now,  I'll  say  no  more ;  and  F  m  sure,  as  the  friend  of  your 
beautiful  mistress,  the  fair  Cooleen  Bawn,  you'll  thank  me 
for  what  I  have  promised  to  do  against  the  Red  Rapparee."' 

"  I  will  pry  no  further  into  your  affairs  or  intentions, 
Fergus ;  but,  if  you  can  take  danger  out  of  the  way  of  the 
Cooleen  Bawn  or  Reilly,  I  will  forgive  you  a  great  deal — 
everything,  indeed,  but  treachery  or  dishonour.  But, 
Fergus,  I  have  something  to  mention  that  will  take  a  start 
out  of  you.  I  have  been  discharged  by  the  squire  from  his 
family,  and — mavrone,  oh  ! — I  can  now  be  of  no  service  to 
the  Cooleen  Bawn." 

"Discharged  !"  replied  Fergus,  with  astonishment;  "  why, 
how  did  that  come  1  But  I  suppose  I  needn't  ask — some 
of  the  mad  old  Squire's  tantrums  I  suppose  1  And  what 
did  the  Cooleen  Baton  herself  say  V 

"Why,  she  cried  bitterly  when  I  was  lavin'  her;  indeed 
if  I  had  been  her  sister  she  couldn't  feel  more ;  and,  as 
might  be  expected  from  her,  she  promised  to  befriend  me 
as  long  as  she  had  it  in  her  power;  but,  poor  thing,  if 
matters  go  against  her,  as  I'm  afeared  they  will — if  she's 
forced  to  marry  that  villain,  it's  little  for  anything  that's 
either  good  or  generous  ever  shell  have  in  her  power  ;  but 
marry  him  she  never  will.  I  heard  her  say  more  than 
wanst  that  she'd  take  her  own  lite  first;  and  indeed  I'm 
sartain  she  will,  too,  if  she's  forced  to  it.  Either  that,  or 
she'll  lose  her  senses  ;  for,  indeed,  Fergus,  the  darlin'  girl 
was  near  losin'  them  wanst  or  twic't  as  it  is — may  God 
pity  and  relieve  her." 

"  Amen,"  replied  Fergus.     "  And  you're  now  on  your 
way  home,  I  suppose  T 


WILLY   REILLY.  213 

"  I  am,"  said  Ellen,  "  and  everything  belongin'  to  me  is 
to  be  sent  to  my  father's;  but  indeed,  Fergus,  I  don't 
much  care  now  what  becomes  of  me.  My  happiness  in 
this  world  is  bound  up  in  hers ;  and  if  she 's  to  be  sunk  in 
grief  and  sorrow,  I  can  never  be  otherwise — we'll  have  the 
one  fate,  Fergus,  and  God  grant  ib  may  be  a  happy  one, 
although  I  see  no  likelihood  of  it." 

"Come,  come,  Ellen,"  replied  Fergus,  "you  think  too 
much  of  it.  The  one  fate !  No,  you  won't,  unless  it  is  a 
happy  one.  I  am  now  free,  as  I  said  ;  and  at  present  I  see 
nothing  to  stand  between  your  happiness  and  mine.  We 
loved  one  another  every  bit  as  well  as  Reilly  and  she  does 
— ay,  and  do  still,  I  hope ;  and  if  they  can't  be  happy, 
that's  no  raison  why  you  and  I  shouldn't.  Happy  !  There's 
nothing  to  prevent  us  from  bein'  so.  I  am  free,  as  I  said  ; 
and  all  we  have  to  do  is  to  lave  this  unfortunate  country 
and  go  to  some  other,  where  there's  neither  oppression  nor 
persecution.  If  you  consent  to  this,  Ellen,  T  can  get  the 
means  of  bringing  us  away,  and  of  settlin'  comfortably  in 
America." 

"And  I  to  leave  the  Cooleen  Bawn  in  the  uncertain  state 
she's  in?     No,  never,  Fergus — never." 

"Why?  of  what  use  can  you  be  to  her  now,  and  you 
separated  from  her — ay,  and  without  the  power  of  doin' 
anything  to  sarve  her?" 

"Fergus,"  said  she, resolutely,  "it's  useless  at  the  present 
time  to  speak  to  me  on  this  subject.  I'm  glad  you've  got 
yourself  from  among  these  cruel  and  unconscionable  liap- 
parees — I'm  glad  you're  free ;  but  I  tell  you  that  if  you 
had  the  wealth  of  Squire  Folliard — ay,  or  of  Whitecraft 
himself,  which  they  say  is  still  greater,  I  wouldn't  become 
your  wife  so  long  as  she's  in  the  state  she's  in." 

"  Tnat's  strong  language,  Ellen,  and  I  am  sorry  to  hear 
it  from  you.  My  God !  can  you  think  of  nobody's  happi- 
ness but  the  Cooleen  Bawris  ?  As  for  me,  it's  my  opinion 
I  like  Reilly  as  well  every  bit  as  you  do  her ;  but,  for  all 
that,  not  even  the  state  he's  in,  nor  the  danger  that  sur- 
rounds him,  would  prevent  me  from  marryin'  a  wife — from 
bindin'  your  heart  and  mine  together  for  life,  my  darlin'  Ellen." 

"Ah!  Fergus,  you're  a  man — not  a  woman — and  can't 
undherstand   what  true   attachment  is.     You  men   never 


214  WILLY  REILLY. 

can.     You're  a  selfish  set — at  least  the  most  of  you  are — 
with  some  exceptions,  I  grant." 

"  And,  upon  my  soul,  Ellen,"  replied  Fergus,  with  a  good- 
humoured  smile,  "  I'm  one  of  the  choicest  and  natest  of  the 
exceptions.  I  prefer  everybody's  happiness  to  my  own — 
poor  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's  for  instance.  Now,  don't  you 
call  that  generosity  ?" 

She  gave  a  mournful  smile,  and  replied — "Fergus,  I 
can't  join  in  your  mirth  now  as  I  used  to  do.  Many  a 
pleasant  conversation  we've  had ;  but  then  our  hearts  were 
light,  and  free  from  care.  No,  Fergus,  you  must  lave  all 
thoughts  of  me  aside,  for  I  will  have  nothing  of  either  love 
or  courtship  till  I  know  her  fate.  Who  can  say  but  I  may 
be  brought  back  ]  She  said  she'd  try  what  she  could  do 
with  her  father  to  effect  it.  You  know  how  whimsical  the 
old  Squire  is]  and  who  knows  whether  she  may  not  stand 
in  need  of  me  again?  But,  Fergus,  there's  one  thing 
strikes  me  as  odd,  and,  indeed,  that  doesn't  rise  you  much 
in  my  good  opinion.  Bat  first,  let  me  ask  you,  what  friend 
it  is  who'd  give  you  the  means  of  going  to  another 
country  V 

"  Why,  who  else  but  Reilly  V  he  replied. 
"  Aud  could  you,"  she  returned,  with  something  like 
contempt  stamped  upon  her  pretty  features — "could  you 
be  mane  and  ungrateful  enough  to  leave  him  now  in  the 
trouble  and  sorrow  that  he's  in,  and  think  only  of  yourself? " 
"  No,  indeed,  my  dear  Ellen ;  but  I  was  only  layin'  the 
plan  whenever  we  might  be  able  to  put  it  in  practice.  I'm 
not  exactly  a  boy  of  that  kidney — to  desart  my  friend  in 
the  day  of  his  trouble, — devil  a  bit  of  it,  my  darlin'." 

"Well,  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  speak  as  you  do,"  she 
said,  with  a  smile ;  "  and  now,  to  reward  your  constancy 
to  him,  I  tell  you  that  whenever  they  re  settled,  or,  at  ail 
events,  out  of  their  troubles,  if  you  think  me  worth  your 
while,  I  won't  have  any  objection  to  become  your  wife  ; 
and — there — what  are  you  about,  Fergus  ]  See  this,  now 
— you've  almost  broken  the  tortoise-shell  crooked-comb 
that  she  made  me  a  present  of." 

"  Why,  blood  alive,  Ellen,  sure  it  was  only  sealin'  the 
bargain  I  was." 

"  Bat  remember  it  is  a  bargain,  and   one   I'll  stick   to. 


WILLY   REILLY.  215 

Now  leave  me ;  it's  gettin'  quite  dark ;  or,  if  you  like,  you 
may  see  me  across  the  fields." 

Such,  in  fact,  was  the  indomitable  attachment  of  this 
faithful  girl  to  her  lovely  and  affectionate  mistress,  that 
with  a  generosity  as  unselfish  as  it  was  rare,  and  almost 
heroic,  she  never  for  a  moment  thought  of  putting  her  own 
happiness  or  prospects  in  life  in  competition  with  those  of 
the  Cooleen  Bawn.  The  latter,  it  is  true,  was  conscious  of 
this  unparalleled  attachment,  and  appreciated  it  at  its  true 
value.  How  nobly  this  admirable  girl  fulfilled  her  gene- 
rous purpose  of  abiding  by  the  fate  and  fortunes  of  her 
unhappy  mistres?,  will  be  seen  as  the  narrative  goes  along. 

Ellen's  appearance  in  her  father's  house  surprised  the 
family  not  a  little.  The  expression  of  sorrow  which 
shaded  her  very  handsome  features,  and  a  paleness  which 
was  unusual  to  her,  alarmed  them  considerably — not  so 
much  from  any  feeling  connected  with  herself,  as  from  an 
apprehension  that  some  new  distress  or  calamity  had  be- 
fallen the  Cooleen  Bawn,  to  whom  they  all  felt  almost  as 
deeply  attached  as  she  did  herself.  After  the  first  affec- 
tionate salutations  were  over,  she  said,  with  a  languid  smile  : 

"  I  suppose  you  all  wonder  to  see  me  here  at  this  hour  ; 
or,  indeed,  to  see  me  here  at  all." 

"  I  hope,  Ellen,"  said  her  father,  "  that  nothing  unplea- 
sant has  happened  to  her." 

"  May  the  Lord  forbid,"  said  her  mother,  "  and  may  the 
Lord  take  the  darlin'  creature  out  of  all  her  troubles.  But 
has  there,  Ellen — has  anything  happened  to  her  V 

"  Nothing  more  than  usual,"  replied  her  daughter,  "  bar- 
ring that  I  have  been  sent  away  from  her— I  am  no  longer 
her  own  maid  now." 

"  Cinema  /"  exclaimed  her  mother ;  "  and  what  is  that 
for,  alanna?" 

"Well,  indeed,  mother,  I  can't  exactly  say,"  replied 
Ellen,  "  but  I  suppose  it  is  because  they  knew  I  loved  her 
too  much  to  be  a  spy  upon  her.  I  have  raison,  however, 
to  suspect  that  the  villain  is  at  the  bottom  of  it,  and  that 
the  girl  who  came  in  my  place  will  act  more  like  a  gaoler 
than  a  maid  to  her.  Of  course,  they're  all  afraid  that  she'll 
run  away  with  Eeilly1?" 

"  And  do  you  think  will  she,  Ellen  ]"  asked  her  father. 


2i6  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  Don't  ask  me  any  such  questions,"  she  replied.  "  It's 
no  matter  what  I  thiuk — and,  besides,  it's  not  my  business 
to  mention  my  thoughts  to  any  one — but  one  thing  I 
know,  it'll  go  hard  if  she  ever  leaves  her  father,  who,  I 
really  think,  would  break  his  heart  if  she  did." 

"  Oh !"  observed  the  father,  with  a  smile,  (i  devil  a  one  o' 
you  girls,  Ellen,  ever  thinks  much  of  father  or  mother, 
when  you  have  made  up  your  minds  to  run  away  wid  your 
huuchaleens — sorra  a  taste." 

11  Arra,  Brian,  will  you  have  sinse,"  said  his  wife ;  "  why 
wouldn't  they  think  o'  them  ?" 

"Did  you  do  it]"  he  asked,  winking  at  the  rest,  "  when 
you  took  a  brave  start  wid  myself  across  Crockaniska,  one 
summer  Sunday  night,  long  ago.  Bj  me  sowl,  you  proved 
yourself  as  supple  as  a  two-year-oid — cleared  drain  and 
ditch  like  a  bird — and  had  me,  when  we  reached  my 
uncle's,  that  the  eyes  wor  startin'  out  o'  my  head." 

"  Bad  scran  to  him,  the  ould  slingpoker  !  Do  you  hear 
him," she  exclaimed, laughing — "never  mind  him,  children  ! 
— troth,  he  went  at  sich  a  snail's  pace  that  one  'ud  think  it 
was  to  confession  he  was  goin',  and  that  he  did  nothing 
but  think  of  his  sins,  as  he  went  along/' 

"  That  was  bekaise  I  knew  that  1  had  the  penance  before 
me,"  he  replied,  laughing  also. 

"  Any  how,"  replied  his  wife,  '■'  our  case  was  not  like 
their's.  We  were  both  Catholics,  and  knew  that  we'd  have 
the  consent  of  our  friends,  besides ;  we  only  made  a  run- 
away, because  it  was  the  custom  of  the  cjuuthry,  glory  be 
to  God!"        . 

"  Ay,  ay,"  rejoined  her  husband  ;  "but,  faith,  it  was  you 
that  proved  yourself  the  active  girl  that  night,  at  any  rate. 
However,  I  hope  the  Lord  will  grant  her  grace  to  go  wid 
him,  at  all  events,  for,  upon  my  sowl,  it  would  be  a  great 
boast  for  the  Catholics — bekaise  we  know  there  is  one 
thing  sure,  and  that  is,  that  the  divil  a  long  she'd  be  wid 
him  till  he'd  have  left  her  fit  to  face  Europe  as  a  Christian 
and  a  Catholic,  bekaise  every  wile  ought  to  go  wid  her 
husband,  barrin'  he's  a  Prodestant." 

Poor  Ellen  paid  little  attention  to  tliis  conversation. 
She  felt  deeply  depressed,  and,  after  many  severe  struggles 
to  restrain  herself,  at  last  burst  into  tears. 


WILLY   EEILLY.  217 

"  Come,  darlin',''  said  her  father,  "  don't  let  this  affair 
cast  you  down  so  much — all  will  yet  turn  out  for  the 
betther,  I  hope.  Cheer  up,  avillish;  maybe  that,  down- 
hearted as  you  are,  I  have  good  news  for  you.  Your  ould 
sweetheart  was  here  this  evenin',  and  hopes  soon  to  have 
his  pardon — he's  a  dacent  boy,  and  has  good  blood  in  his 
veins;  and  as  for  his  joinin'  O'Donnel,  it  wasn't  a  bad 
heart  set  him  to  do  it,  but  the  oppression  that  druv  him,  as 
it  did  many  others,  to  take  the  steps  he  took — oppression 
on  the  one  side,  and  bitterness  of  heart  on  the  other." 

"  I  saw  him  awhile  ago,"  she  replied,  "  and  he  tould  me 
a  good  deal  about  himself.  But,  indeed,  father,  it's  not  of 
him  I'm  thinkin',  but  on  the  datliu'  girl  that's  on  the  brink 
of  destruction,  and  what  I  know  she  's  sufferin'." 

"  I  wondher  where  Reilly  is,"  said  her  mother.  "  My 
goodness !  sure  he  ought  to  make  a  push,  and  take  her  off 
at  wanst.  I  dunna  is  he  in  the  country  at  all?  What  do 
you  think,  Ellen  1" 

•  "Indeed,  mother,"  she  replied,  "very  few,  I  believe, 
knows  anything  about  him.  All  I'm  afraid  of  is,  that, 
wherever  he  may  be,  he'll  hardly  escape  discovery." 

"Well,"  said'  her  father,  "1*11  tell  you  what  we'll  do. 
Let  us  kneel  down  and  offer  up  ten  pathers,*ten  aves,  and 
a  creed,  that  the  Lord  may  protect  them  both  from  their 
enemies,  and  grant  them  a  happy  marriage,  in  spite  of  laws, 
parliaments,  magistrates,  spies,  persecutors,  and  priest- 
hunters  ;  and,  as  our  hands  are  in,  let  us  offer  up  a  few  thau 
God  may  confound  that  villain,  Whiteciaft,  and  bring  him 
snugly  to  the  gallows." 

This  was  immediately  complied  with,  in  a  spirit  of 
earnestness  surpassing  probably  what  they  might  have  felo 
had  they  been  praying  for  their  own  salvation.  Trie 
prayers  having  been  concluded,  and  supper  prepared,  in 
due  time  the  family  retired  to  rest  for  the  night. 

When  Fergus  ReiHy  took  his  leave  of  Eilen,  he  directed 
his  steps  to  the  cottage  of  Mrs.  Buckley,  where,  for  certain 
purposes  connected  with  his  designs  on  the  Red  E-apparee, 
he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  meeting  the  sagacious  fool, 
Tom  Steeple.  It  was  there,  besides,  that  he  had  left  his 
disguise,  which  the  unaccomplished  progress  of*  his  projects 
lendered  it  necessary  that  he  should  once  more  resume. 


218  WILLY  REILLY. 

This,  in  fact,  was  the  place  of  their  rendezvous,  where  they 
generally  met  at  night.  These  meetings,  however,  were 
not  always  very  regular,  for  poor  Tom,  notwithstanding  his 
singular  and  anomalous  cunning,  was  sometimes  led  away 
by  his  gastric  appetite  to  hunt  for  a  bully  dinner,  or  a 
bully  supper,  or  a  mug  of  strong  beer,  as  the  case  might 
be,  and  after  a  gorge  he  was  frequently  so  completely  over- 
taken by  laziness  and  a  consequent  tendency  to  sleep,  that 
he  retired  to  the  barn,  or  some  other  outhouse,  where  he 
stretched  his  limbs  on  a  shake-down  of  hay  or  straw,  and 
lapped  himself  into  a  state  of  luxury,  which  many  an 
epicure  of  rank  and  wealth  might  envy. 

On  reaching  the  widow's  cottage,  Fergus  felt  somewhat 
disappointed  that  Tom  was  not  there,  nor  had  he  been 
seen  that  day  in  any  part  of  the  neighbourhood.  Fergus, 
however,  whilst  the  widow  was  keeping  watch  outside, 
contrived  to  get  on  his  old  disguise  once  more,  after  which 
he  proceeded  in  the  direction  of  his  place  of  refuge  for  the 
night.  On  crossing  the  fields,  however,  towards  the  wild 
and  lonely  road,  which  was  at  no  great  distance  from  the 
cottage,  he  met  Tom  approaching  it,  at  his  usual  sling-trot 
pace. 

"  Is  that  T<5m  P  said  he—"  tall  Tom  T 
11  Hicco,  hicco !"   replied  Tom,  quite   gratified  with  the 
compliment.     "  You  be  tall,  too — not  as  tall  as  Tom  dough. 
Tom  got  bully  dinner  to-day,  and  bully  sleep  in  de  barn, 
and  bully  supper,  but  wasn't  sleepy  den — hicco,  hicco." 
"  Well,  Tom,  what  news  about  what  you  know  V 
"In   toder    house,"   replied  Tom;  "him  sleeps  in  Peg 
Finigan's  sometimes,  and  sometimes  in  toder  again — dat  is, 
Mary  Mahon's.     Him's  afeared  o'  something — hard  him  say 
so,  sure,  to  ould  Peg." 

"Well,  Tom,  if  you  will  keep  your  eye  on  him,  so  as 
that  you  can  let  us  know  where  to  find  him,  we'll  engage 
to  give  you  a  bully  dinner  every  day,  and  a  bully  supper 
every  night  of  your  life,  and  a  swig  of  stout  ale  to  wash  it 
down,  with  plenty  of  straw  to  sleep  on,  and  a  winnow- 
cloth  and  lots  of  sacks  to  keep  you  as  warm  and  cosy  as  a 
winter  hob.  You  know  where  to  find  mo  every  evenin' 
after  dusk,  Tom,  and  when  you  come  with  good  news, 
you'll  be  a  made  man  \  and,  listen,  Tom,  it'll  make  you  a 


WILLY  REILLY.  219 

foot  taller,  and  who  knows,  man  alive,  but  we  may  show 
you  for  a  giant,  now." 

"  Hicco,  hicco  !"  said  Tom ;  "  dat  great — never  mind  ; 
me  catch  him  for  you.  A  giant ! — oh,  gorramarcy !— a 
giant ! — hicco  ! — gorramarcy !" — and,  with  these  words,  he 
darted  off  in  some  different  direction,  whilst  Fergus  went 
to  his  usual  place  of  rest  for  the  night. 

It  would  seem  by  the  Red  Eapparee's  movements  at  this 
time  as  if  he  entertained  some  vague  suspicions  of 
awakened  justice,  notwithstanding  the  assurances  of  safety 
previously  communicated  to  him  by  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft. 
Indeed,  it  is  not  impossible  that  even  the  other  individuals 
who  had  distinguished  themselves  under  that  zealous 
baronet,  might,  in  their  conversations  with  each  other, 
have  enabled  the  Rapparee  to  get  occasional  glimpses  of 
the  new  state  of  things  which  had  just  taken  place,  and 
that,  in  consequence,  he  shifted  about  a  good  deal,  taking 
care  never  to  sleep  two  nights  in  succession  under  the  same 
roof.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the  eye  of  Tom  Steeple  was  on 
him,  without  the  least  possible  suspicion  on  his  part  that 
he  was  under  his  surveillance. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

REILLY  TAKES  SERVICE  WITH  SQUIRE  FOLLIARD. 

vj]P5  EILLY  led  a  melancholy  life  after  the  departure  of 
:!K\  the  pious  bishop.  A  week,  however,  had  elapsed, 
^  and  he  felt  as  if  it  had  been  half  a  year.  His 
anxiety,  however,  either  to  see  or  hear  from  his  Cooleen 
Baivn,  completely  overcame  him,  and  he  resolved,  at  all 
events,  to  write  to  her.  In  the  meantime,  how  was  he  to 
do  this  1  There  was  no  note-paper  in  the  farmer's  house, 
nor  any  to  be  procured  elsewhere,  and,  under  those  circum- 
stances, he  resolved  to  pay  a  visit  to  Mr.  Brown.  After 
some  trouble  he  was  admitted  to  the  presence  of  that 
gentleman,   who    could    scarcely    satisfy    himself    of    his 


'J 20  WILLY   REILLY. 

identity ;  but,  at  length,  he  felt  assured  and  asked  him  in 
to  the  study. 

"My  dear  Reilly,"  said  he,  "  I  think  you  are  infatuated. 
I  thought  you  had  been  out  of  the  country  long  before  this. 
Why,  in  heaven's  name,  do  you  remain  in  Ireland,  when 
you  know  the  difficulty  of  escape  %  I  have  had,  since  I  saw 
you  last,  two  or  three  domiciliary  visits  from  Whitecraft 
and  his  men,  who  searched  my  whole  house  and  premises 
in  a  spirit  of  insolence  that  was  most  indelicate  and  offen- 
sive. Hastings  and  I  have  sent  a  memorial  to  the  Lord 
Lieutenant,  signed  by  some  of  the  most  respectable  Pro- 
testant gentry  in  the  country,  in  which  we  stated  his 
wanton  tyranny  as  well  as  his  oppression  of  his  Majesty^ 
subjects — harmless  and  loyal  men,  and  whom  he  pursues 
with  unsatiable  vengeance,  merely  because  they  are  Roman 
Catholics.  1  certainly  do  not  expect  that  our  memorial 
will  be  attended  to  by  this  Administration.  There  is  a 
report,  however,  that  the  present  Ministry  will  soon  go  out, 
and  be  succeeded  by  one  more  liberal." 

"  Well,"  replied  Reilly,  "  since  I  saw  you  last,  I  have 
had  some  narrow  escapes;  but  I  think  it  would  be  difficult 
to  know  me  in  my  present  disguise." 

"I  grant  that,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  "but  then  is  there 
nothing  to  be  apprehended  from  treachery  V 

"I  think  not,"  replied  the  other.  "There  is  only  the 
farmer  and  his  family,  with  whom  the  bishop  and  I  har- 
boured, who  are  aware  of  my  disguise,  and  to  that  number 
I  must,  now  add  yourself." 

"Well,"  replied  Mr.  Brown,  smiling,  "I  do  not  think 
you  have  much  to  apprehend  from  me." 

"No,"  said  Reilly,  "you  have  given  me  too  many  sub- 
stantial proofs  of  your  confidence  for  that.  But  I  wish  to 
write  a  letter ;  and  I  have  neither  pen,  ink,  nor  paper ; 
will  you  be  good  enough  to  lend  me  the  use  of  your  study 
for  a  few  minutes,  and  your  writing  materials  V 

The  excellent  clergyman  immediately  conducted  him  to 
the  study,  and  placed  the  materials  before  him  with  his 
own  hands  ;  after  which  he  left  the  room.  Reilly  then  sat 
down,  and  penned  the  following  letter  to  his  dear  Cooleen 
Baton : — 

"I  am  now  thoroughly  disguised,  indeed  so  effectually 


WILLY  REILLY.  221 

that  nay  nearest  and  dearest  friends  could  not  know  me; 
nay,  I  question  whether  even  you  yourself  would,  except 
by  the  keen  intuition  of  affection,  which  is  said  to  penetrate 
all  disguises,  unless  those  of  falsehood  and  hypocrisy. 
These,  however,  are  disguises  I  have  never  worn,  nor  ever 
shall  wear — either  to  you,  or  any  human  being.  I  had 
intended  to  go  to  the  Continent  until  this  storm  of  perse- 
cution might  blow  over;  but  on  reflection  I  changed  my 
purpose,  for  I  could  not  leave  you  to  run  the  risk  of  being 
ensnared  in  the  subtle  and  treacherous  policy  of  that  villain. 
It  is  my  intention  to  visit  your  father's  house  and  to  see 
you  if  I  can.  You  need  not,  for  the  sake  of  my  safety,, 
object  to  this,  because  no  one  can  know  me.  The  descrip- 
tion of  my  dress,  though  somewhat  undignified,  I  musfe 
give  you.  In  the  first  place,  then,  I  am,  to  all  outward 
appearance,  as  rude-looking  a  country  lout  as  ever  you 
looked  upon.  My  disguise  consists,  first,  of  a  pair  of 
brogues  embroidered  with  clouts,  or  what  is  vulgarly  de- 
nominated patches,  out  of  the  point  of  one  of  which — that 
of  the  right  foot — nearly  half  my  toe  visibly  projects. 
The  stockings  are  coarse  Connemaras,  with  sufficient  air 
holes,  both  in  feet  and  legs,  to  admit  the  pure  atmosphere, 
and  strengthen  the  muscular  system.  My  small-clothes 
are  corduroys,  bought  from  a  hard-working  labourer,  with 
a  large  patch  upon  each  knee.  A  tailor,  however,  has 
promised  to  get  some  buttons  for  them  and  sew  them  on. 
The  waistcoat  is  altogether  indescribable ;  because  as  its 
materials  seem  to  have  been  rescued,  that  is,  stolen,  from 
all  the  scarecrows  in  the  country,  I  am  unable  to  come  at 
the  first  fabric.  The  coat  itself  is  also  beautifully  varie- 
gated— its  patches  consisting  of  all  the  colours  of  the 
rainbow,  with  two  or  three  dozen  that  never  appeared  in 
that  beautiful  phenomenon.  But  what  shall  I  say  of  the 
pediment,  or  caubeen,  which  is  a  perfect  gem  of  its  kind  % 
The  villain  who  wore  it,  I  have  been  toid  by  the  person 
who  acted  as  factor  for  me  in  its  purchase,  was  one  of  the 
most  quarrelsome  rascals  in  Ireland,  and  seldom  went  with- 
out a  black  eye,  or  a  broken  pate.  This  I  suppose  accounts 
for  the  droop  in  the  leaf,  which  covers  the  left  eye  so  com- 
pletely as  well  as  for  the  ventilator,  which  so  admirably 
refreshes  the  head,  and   allows  the  rain  to  come  in  so 


•2t1  willy  reilly. 

abundantly  to  cool  it.  I  cannot  help  reflecting,  however, 
on  the  fate  of  those  who  ha>ve  nothing  better  to  wear,  and 
of  the  hard  condition  which  dooms  them  to  it.  And  now, 
my  beloved  Cooleen  Bawn,  whilst  I  have  thus  endeavoured 
to  make  you  smile,  I  assure  you  I  have  exaggerated  very 
little.  This  dress,  you  know,  is  precisely  that  of  a  wretched 
Connaught-man,  looking  for  employment.  The  woman 
who  will,  through  our  confidant,  Lanigan,  deliver  this  to 
yon,  is  a  poor  faithful  creature,  a  pensioner  of  mine,  who 
may  be  trusted.  Appoint  through  her  a  day  and  hour 
when,  as  a  man  seeking  for  labour,  I  will  stand  at  the  hall- 
door.  I  am  quite  satisfied  that  neither  your  father,  nor 
the  villain,  will  know  me  from  Adam.  The  woman  who  is 
to  bring  this  will  call  on  the  second  day  after  its  delivery, 
and  I  shall  be  guided  by  whatever  message  you  may  send 
me.  On  one  thing,  however,  I  am  determined,  which  is, 
that  if  it  should  cost  me  my  life,  I  will  prevent  the  medi« 
tated  marriage  between  you  and  him.  Sooner  than  such 
an  event  should  take  place,  I  would  put  a  pistol  to  his 
head  and  blow  his  guilty  soul  into  that  perdition  which 
awaits  it.  Don't  write ;  let  your  message  be  verbal,  and 
destroy  this." 

On  going  to  widow  Buckley's,  he  learned — after  some 
trouble  in  identifying  himself — that  she  bad  several  visits 
from  Sir  Robert  and  his  men,  at  all  hours,  both  by  night 
and  day.  He  therefore  hastily  gave  her  the  necessary 
instructions  how  to  act,  and,  above  all  things,  to  ask  to  see 
Lanigan,  and,  if  possible,  to  bring  some  eggs  or  chickens 
for  sale,  which  fact,  he  said,  would  give  a  colour  to  her 
appearance  there,  and  prevent  the  possibility  of  any  sus- 
picion. Having  placed  the  letter  in  her  keeping,  together 
with  some  silver  to  enable  her  to  purchase  either  the  eggs 
or  the  chickens,  in  case  she  had  them  not  herself,  he  then 
returned  to  the  farmer's,  where  he  remained  quietly  and 
without  disturbance  of  any  kind  until  the  third  day,  when 
widow  Buckley  made  her  appearance.  He  brought  her 
out  to  the  garden,  because  in  discussing  matters  connected 
with  his  Cooleen  Baton  he  did  not  wish  that  even  the 
farmer's  family  should  be  auditors — although  we  may  say 
here,  that  not  only  were  the  loves  of  Willy  Reilly  and 
Cooleen  Bawn  known  to  the  farmer  and  his  family,  but  also 


WILLY  KJSiLLY.  223 

to  the  whole  country,  and,  indeed,  through  the  medium  of 
ballads,  to  the  greater  portion  of  the  kingdom. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Buckley,"  said  he,  "  did  you  see  her  V 

"  Oh,  bad  scran  to  you,  Mr.  Reilly  !  you're  the  very  sarra 
among  the  girls,  when  you  could  persuade  that  lovely 
creature  to  fall  in  love  with  you — and  you  a  Catholic,  an' 
her  a  Protestant!  May  I  never,  if  I  think  there's  her 
aquil  out  o'  heaven  !  D#il  an  angel  I  think  in  it  could 
hould  a  candle  to  her  for  beauty  and  figure.  She  only 
wants  the  wings,  sir — for  they  say  that  all  the  angels  have 
wings;  and  upon  my  conscience  if  she  had  them  I  know 
the  man  she'd  fly  to." 

"  But  what  happened,  Mrs.  Buckley  %" 

"  Why,  I  sould  some  chickens  and  eggs  to  the  cook,  who 
at  wanst  knew  me,  because  I  had  often  sould  him  chickens 
and  eggs  before.  He  came  up  to  the  hall  door,  and — 
'Well,  Mrs.  Buckley,'  says  he,  'what's  the  news?'  * Beidhe 
husth?  says  I,  '  before  I  sell  you  the  chickens,  let  me  ax  is 
the  Cooleen  Bawn  at  home?  '  She  is,'  says  he,  lookin'  me 
sharp  and  straight  in  the  face;  4do  you  want  her]'  'I 
would  like  to  see  her,'  says  I,  '  for  a  minute  or  two.'  ■  Ay,' 
says  he,  back  agin  to  me,  'you  have  a  message — and  you 
know  besides  that  she  never  buys  chickens ;  that's  my 
business.'  '  But,'  says  I,  back  agin,  '  I  was  tould  by  him 
that  you  were  faithful,  and  could  be  depinded  on.'  'Ay,' 
says  he  ;  {  but  I  thought  he  had  left  the  counthry.'  'Troth, 
then,'  says  I,  '  he's  to  the  fore  still,  and  won't  lave  the 
counthry  till  he  sees  her  wanst  more,  at  all  events.'  '  Have 
you  a  letther?'  *  Betherahin*  says  I— 'could  you  let  me 
see  her ;  for  he  tould  me  to  say  to  her  that  she  is  not  to 
indite  letthers  to  him,  for  'fraid  of  discovery.'  '  Well,'  says 
he,  'as  the  master's  at  home,  I'll  have  some  difficulty  in 
spakin'  to  her.  Devil  a  move  she  gives  but  he  watches  ; 
and  we  got  a  new  servant  the  other  day,  and  devil  a  thing 
she  is  but  a  spy,  from  Sir  Robert  Whiteciaft,  and  some 
people  say  that  her  masther  and  she  forgot  the  Gospel 
between  them.  Indeed  I  believe  that's  pretty  well  known  ; 
and  isn't  he  a  horrid  villain  to  send  such  a  vagabone  to 
attend  and  be  about  the  very  woman  that  he  expects  to  be 
his  own  wife^'" 

"Don't    be  so  particular    in    your    descriptions,   Mrs. 


224:  WILLY   REILLY. 

Buckley,"    said    Iteilly.       "Did     you    'see     the    Coolec* 
Bau-nV' 

"  Look  at  that,"  she  replied,  opening  her  hand,  and 
showing  him  a  golden  guinea — "  don't  you  know  by  that 
that  I  seen  her ;  but  you  must  let  me  go  on  my  own  way. 
1  Well/  says  Lanigan,  the  cook,  '  I  must  go  and  see  what  I 
can  do.'  He  then  went  up  stairs,  and  contrived  to  give 
her  a  hint,  and  that  was  enough.  The  Lord  bless  us,  Mr. 
Reilly,  what  won't  love  do  %  This  girl — as  Lanigan  tould 
me — that  the  villain  Whitecraft  had  sent  as  a  spy  upon 
her  actions,  was  desired  to  go  to  her  wardrobe,  to  pick  out 
from  among  her  beautiful  dresses  one  that  she  had  pro- 
mised her  as  a  present  some  days  before.  The  cook  had 
this  from  the  giri  herself,  who  was  the  sarra  for  dress ;  but, 
any  how,  wlme  the  she  spy  was  tumbling  about  Cooleeu, 
Bawn's  dresses,  the  dariin'  herself  whipped  down  stairs, 
aud  coming  to  me  says,  'The  cook  tells  me  you  have  a 
message  for  me.'  Jist  at  this  moment,  and  after  she  had 
slipped  the  letter  into  her  bosom,  her  father  turns  a  corner 
round  the  garden,  and  seeing  his  daughter,  which  was  a 
very  unusual  thing,  in  conversation  with  a  person  like  my- 
self, he  took  the  alarm  at  once.  '  How,  Helen  ?  who  is 
this  you  are  speaking  to  1  No  go-between,  I  hope  ]  Who 
are  you,  you  blasted  old  she  whelp V  'I  am  no  more  a  she 
whelp  than  you  are.'  'Then  maybe  you  are  a  he  one  in 
disguise.  What  brought  you  here  V  '  Here  !  I  came  to 
sell  my  eggs  and  my  chickens,  as  I  done  for  years.'  '  Your 
eggs  and  your  chickens  !  curse  you,  you  old  Jezebel,  did 
you  ever  lay  the  eggs  or  hatch  the  chickens  ]  Aud  if  you 
did,  why  not  produce  the  old  cock  himself,  in  proof  of  the 
truth  of  what  you  say  ]  I'll  have  you  searched,  though,  in 
spite  of  your  eggs  and  chickens.  Here,'  he  said  to  one  of 
the  footmen,  who  was  passing  through  the  hall — 'here, 
Jones,  send  up  Lanigan,  till  we  see  whether  he  knows  this 
old  faggot,  who  has  the  assurance  to  tell  me,  that  she  lays 
eggs  and  hatches  chickens.'  When  Lanigan  came  up  again, 
he  looked  at  me  as  at  an  ould  acquaintance,  which,  in  point 
of  fact,  we  were.  *  Why,  your  honour,'  said  he,  '  this  is  a 
poor  honest  creature  that  has  been  selling  us  eggs  and 
chickens  for  many  years.'  'She  wouldn't  be  a  go-between, 
Lanigan — eh  ?     What's   your   name,  you  old  faggot — eh V 


WILLY  REILLY.  225 

1  My  name  is  Scrahag,  your  honour,'  says  I,  '  one  of  the 
Scrahags  of  Ballycumpiatee — an  honest  and  dacint  family, 
sir ;  but  if  your  honour  would  buy  the  eggs,  at  any  rate, 
and  hatch  them  yourself,'  says  I  to  him,"  (for  she  had  a 
large  stock  of  Irish  humour,)  " '  you  know,  sir,  you  could 
have  the  chickens  at  first  cost.'     'Ha,  ha,  ha,'  and  the 

squire  laughed  till  he  nearly  split  his  sides ;  '  by I'm 

hit' — God  pardon  me  for  repeatin'  his  oaths. — 'Here, 
Lanigan,  bring  her  down  to  the  kitchen,  and  give  her  a  fog 
meal.'  '  I  understand  you,  sir,'  said  Lanigan,  smiling  at 
him.  'Yes,  Lanigan,  give  her  a  cargo  of  the  best  in  the 
pantry.  She's  a  shrewd  and  comical  old  blade,'  said  he, 
'  give  her  a  kegf ul  of  beef  or  mutton,  or  both,  and  a  good 
swill  of  ale  or  porter,  or  whatever  she  prefers.  Curse  me, 
but  I  give  the  old  whelp  credit  for  the  hit  she  gave  me. 
Pay  her,  besides,  whatever  she  asks  for  her  eggs  and 
chickens.  Here,  you  bitter  old  randletree,  there  are  three 
thirteens  for  you ;  and  if  you  will  go  down  to  the  kitchen 
with  the  cook,  he  will  give  you  a  regular  skinful.'  The 
cook,  knowing  that  the  Cooleen  Bawn  wished  to  send  some 
message  back  to  you,  sir,  brought  me  down,  and  gave  me 
not  only  plenty  to  ait  and  drink,  but  stuffed  the  praskeen 
that  I  had  carried  the  eggs  and  chickens  in  with  as  much 
cold  meat  and  bread  as  it  could  contain." 

"  Well,  but  did  you  not  see  her  afterwards  %  and  did  she 
send  no  message  V 

"  Only  two  or  three  words ;  the  day  afther  to-morrow, 
at  two  o'clock,  come  to  look  for  labour,  and  she  will  con- 
trive to  see  you." 

This  was  enough,  and  Reilly  did  not  allow  his  ambassa- 
dress to  leave  him  without  substantial  marks  of  his  bounty 
also. 

When  the  old  squire  went  to  his  study,  he  desired  the 
gardener  to  be  sent  for,  and  when  that  individual  entered, 
he  found  his  master  in  a  towering  passion. 

"What  is  the  reason,  Malcomson,"  said  he,  "that  the 
garden  is  in  such  a  shameful  state  1  I  declare  to  God  it  is. 
scandalous." 

"On,  your  honour,"  replied  Malcomson,  who  was  a 
Scotchman,  "e'en  because  you  will  no  allow  me  an  under- 

p 


226  WILLY  RETLLY. 

gerdener,  No  one  man  could  manage  your  gevden,  and  it 
canna  be  managed,  without  some  clever  chiel  wha  under- 
stands the  sceence." 

"  The  what  V 

"  The  sceence,  your  honour." 

11  Why,  confound  you,  sir,  what  science  is  necessary  in 
gardening  1" 

"I  tell  your  honour  that  the  management  of  a  gerden 
requires  baith  skeel  and  knowledge,  and  feelosophy." 

"  Why,  confound  you,  sir,  again,  what  kind  of  doctrine 
is  this?' 

"  It's  vara  true  doctrine,  sir.  You  have  large  and 
spacious  green-hooses,  and  I  wad  want  some  one  to  assist 
me  wha  understands  buttany." 

11  Buttony — buttony — why,  confound  you,  sirra,  send  for 
a  tailor  then,  for  he  understands  buttony." 

"  I  see  your  honour  is  detarmined  to  indulge  in  a  jocular 
spirit  the  day.  The  truth  is,  your  honour,  I  hae  no  men 
to  assist  me  but  common  labourers,  who  are  athegether 
ignorant  of  gerdening;  now,  if  I  had  a  man  who  could 
direct  the  operations " 

"  Operations !  curse  your  Scotch  impudence,  do  you 
think  yourself  a  general  T 

"  Na,  na,  sir ;  but  a  better  man ;  and  I  tell  ye  that  I 
winna  remain  in  your  service  unless  I  get  an  assistant; 
and  I  say  that,  if  it  were  na  for  the  aid  of  Miss  Folliard,  I 
would  na  been  able  to  keep  the  green-hoose  e'en  in  its 
present  state.  She  has  trailed  the  Passion-Flo wer  wi'  her 
ain  hands  until  it  is  flourishing.  Then  she  has  a  beautiful 
little  crop  of  Forget-me-nots ;  but,  above  a',  it  wad  do 
your  honour's  heart  gude  to  see  the  beautiful  bed  she  has 
of  Sweet- William  and  Love-lies-bleeding." 

"  Ay,  ay !  Love-lies-bleeding ;  no  doubt  but  she'll  take 
care  of  that.  Well,  go  and  get  an  under-gardener  where- 
ever  you  can,  and  let  my  garden  be,  at  all  events,  such  as 
a  stranger  can  walk  through,  and  such  as  becomes  my  name 
and  property.  Engage  such  a  person,  give  him  whatever 
you  consider  fair  wages,  and  the  house-steward  will  pay 
him  weekly.  These  are  matters  I  can't  trouble  myself 
with  now — I  have  other  things  to  think  of." 

On  the  day  mentioned  in  Gooleen  B aim's  message,  Reilly 


WILLY   REILLY.  227 

hazarded  a  visit  to  the  squire's  house,  and  after  giving  a 
single  knock,  begged  to  see  the  cook.  The  porter  having 
looked  at  him  with  the  usual  contempt  which  menials  of 
his  class  bestow  upon  poor  persons,  went  down  to  the 
kitchen  with  a  good  deal  of  reluctance,  and  told  the  cook, 
with  a  grin,  that  one  of  his  relations  wanted  to  see  him. 

"  Well,"  replied  Lanjgan,  who  had  been  made  aware  of 
the  intended  visit,  "it's  wonderful,  in  these  hard  times, 
the  number  of  respectable  but  reduced  families  that's  goin* 
about.  What  kind  of  a  gentleman  is  he,  John  1  because  I 
am  very  busy  now.  To  be  sure  there  is  a  great  deal  of 
cold  vittles  left,  that  would  be  lost  and  destroyed  if  we 
didn't  give  them  to  the  poor ;  and  you  know  the  masther, 
who  is  a  charitable  man,  desired  us  to  do  so.  I'll  go  up 
and  see  what  the  poor  devil  wants." 

He  accordingly  went  up  to  the  hall-door,  and  found 
Reilly  there.  It  was  to  no  purpose  that  he  had  been  al- 
ready apprised  of  his  disguise — it  was  so  complete  that  he 
did  not  know  him — his  beard  was  half  an  inch  long ;  and, 
besides,  Reilly  knowing  the  risk  he  ran  in  this  daring  ad- 
venture, had  discoloured  his  complexion  with  some  wash 
that  gave  it  the  tinge  of  a  mulatto.  The  cook  was 
thunderstruck. 

"  Well,  my  good  fellow,"  said  he,  not  in  the  slightest 
degree  recognising  him,  "  what  do  you  want  with  me  V* 

"Lanigan,"  replied  Reilly,  "  don't  you  know  me]" 

"Know  you!  how  the  devil  should  I  know  you!— I 
never  saw  you  before.     What  do  you  want  with  me  \" 

"  Lanigan,"  whispered  the  other,  "  did  you  never  hear  of 
Willy  Reilly  ?" 

"Yes,  I  did ;  have  you  any  message  from  him?" 

"I  am  the  man  myself,"  said  Reilly,  "but  you  don'fc 
know  me,  I  am  so  completely  disguised.  Don't  you  know 
my  voice  V 

"Merciful  father!"  said  the  cook,  "I'm  in  a  doldrum; 
can  I  be  sure  that  you  don't  come  from  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft,  the  notorious  blackguard  f 

"  Lanigan,  I  am  Willy  Reilly  ;  my  voice  ought  to  tell  you 
so  ;  but  I  wish  to  gee  and  speak  with  my  dear  Oooleen  Bavm" 

"Oh,  my  God!  sir,"  replied  Lanigan,  "but  this  love 
makes  strange  transmigrations.     She  won't  know  you,  sir," 


228  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  Make  your  mind  easy  on  that  point,"  replied  Reilly ;. 
"  only  let  her  know  that  I  am  here." 

"  Come  down  to  the  kitchen  then,  sir,  and  I  shall  put 
you  into  the  servants'  hall,  which  branches  off  it.  It  is 
entered  besides,  by  a  different  door  from  that  of  the 
kitchen,  and  while  you  stay  there — and  you  can  pass  into 
it  without  going  through  the  kitchen — I  will  try  to  let  her 
know  where  you  are.  She  has,  at  present,  a  maid  who 
was  sent  by  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  and  she  is  nothing  else 
than  a  spy ;   but  it'll  go  hard  or  I  '11  baffle  her." 

He  accordingly  placed  Eeilly  in  the  servants'  hall,  and 
on  his  way  to  the  drawing-room  met  Miss  Folliard  going 
to  her  own  apartment,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the 
front  of  the  house.  He  instantly  communicated  to  her  the 
fact  of  Reilly 's  presence  in  the  servants'  hall ;  "  buV 
added  Lanigan,  "  you  won't  know  him — his  own  mother,  if 
she  was  livin',  wouldn't  know  a  bone  in  his  body." 

"  Oh !"  she  replied,  whilst  her  eyes  flashed  fearfully,  in 
fact,  in  a  manner  that  startled  the  cook — "oh!  if  he  is 
there  I  shall  soon  know  him.  He  has  a  voice,  I  think  ! — 
he  has  a  voice !     Has  he  not,  Lanigan  1" 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  replied  Lanigan,  "he  has  a  voice,  and  a 
heart  too." 

"  Oh !  yes,  yes,"  she  said,  "  I  must  go  to  him ;  they 
want  to  marry  me  to  that  monster — to  that  bigot  and 
persecutor,  on  this  very  day  month  ;  but,  Lanigan,  it  shall 
never  be — death  a  thousand  times  sooner  than  such  a  union. 
If  they  attempt  to  bind  us,  death  shall  cut  the  link  asunder 
— that  I  promise  yon,  Lanigan.  Bat  I  must  go  to  him — I 
must  go  to  him." 

She  ran  down  the  stairs  as  she  spoke,  and  Lanigan 
having  looked  after  her,  seemed  deeply  concerned. 

"My  God!"  he  exclaimed,  "what  will  become  of  thafe 
sweet  girl,  if  she  is  forced  to  marry  that  wealthy  scoundrel  I 
I  declare  to  my  God  I  hardly  think  she  is  this  moment  in 
her  proper  senses.  There's  a  fire  in  her  eyes,  and  some- 
thing in  her  manner,  that  I  never  observed  before.  At  all 
events,  I  have  locked  the  door  that  opens  from  the  kitchen 
into  the  servants'  hall,  so  that  they  cannot  be  interrupted 
from  that  quarter." 

When   the  CooJeen  Bawn  entered,  she   shrunk  back  in- 


WILLY  RBILLY.  223 

stinctively.  The  disguise  was  so  complete  that  she  could 
not  impose  even  on  her  imagination  or  her  senses.  The 
complexion  was  different,  in  fact  quite  sallow  ;  the  beard 
long,  and  the  costume  such  as  we  have  described  it.  There 
was,  in  fact,  something  extremely  ludicrous  in  the  meeting. 
Here  was  an  elegant  and  beautiful  young  woman  of  fashion, 
almost  ready,  as  it  were,  to  throw  herself  in  the  arms  of  a 
common  pauper,  with  a  beard  upon  him  better  than  half 
an  inch  long.  As  it  was,  she  stopped  suddenly  and  re- 
treated a  step  or  two,  saying,  as  she  did  so : 

"  This  must  be  some  mistake.     Who  are  you  ?" 

"Helen!" 

"  Eeilly !  oh,  that  voice  has  set  all  right.  But,  my  God, 
who  could  know  you  in  this  disguise  V 

They  approached,  and  Eeilly  seizing  her  hand,  said,  "  I 
will  shake  hands  with  you ;  bub  until  this  disguise  is  off  I 
would  consider  it  sacrilege  to  approach  nearer  to  your 
person." 

"  No  disguise  can  ever  shut  you  out  from  my  heart,  dear 
Eeilly;  but  what  is  to  be  done?  I  have  discovered,  by 
one  of  my  maids,  who  overheard  my  father  say,  in  a  short 
soliloquy — '  Well,  thank  Gad,  she'll  be  Sir  Egbert's  wife 
within  a  mouth,  and  then  my  mind  will  be  easy  at  last/ 
Oh  !  I'm  glad  you  did  not  leave  this  country.  But,  as  I 
said,  what  is  to  be  done  1     What  will  become  of  us  1" 

"Under  our  peculiar  circumstances,"  replied  Eeilly, 
"  the  question  cannot,  for  the  present  at  least,  be  answered. 
As  for  leaving  the  country,  I  might  easily  have  done  it, 
but  I  could  not  think  of  leaving  you  to  the  snares  and 
windings  of  that  villain.  I  declare  solemnly,  I  would 
rather  die  than  witness  a  union  between  you  and  him." 

"  But  what,  think  you,  should  I  feel  1  You  would  be  only 
a  spectator  of  the  sacrifice,  whereas  I  should  be  the  victim." 

"  Do  not  be  cast  down,  my  love ;  whilst  I  have  life,  and 
a  strong  arm,  it  shall  never  be.  Before  I  go  I  shall  make 
arrangements  with  Lanigan  when  and  where  to  see  you 
again." 

"It  will  be  a  matter  of  some  difficulty,"  she  replied, 
"  for  I  am  now  under  the  strictest  surveillance.  I  am  told, 
and  I  feel  it,  that  Whitecraft  has  placed  a  spy  upon  all  my 
motions." 


230  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  How  is  that  V  inquired  Reilly.  "  Are  you  not  under 
the  protection  of  your  father,  who,  when  occasion  is  neces- 
sary, has  both  pride  and  spirit  T 

"But  my  poor  credulous  father  is,  notwithstanding, 
easily  imposed  on.  I  know  not  exactly  the  particulars," 
replied  the  lovely  girl,  "  but  I  can  easily  suspect  them. 
My  father  it  was,  certainly,  who  discharged  my  last  maid, 
Ellen  Connor,  because,  he  said,  he  did  not  like  her,  and 
because,  he  added,  he  would  put  a  better  and  a  more  trust- 
worthy one  in  her  place.  I  cannot  move  that  she  is  not 
either  with  me  or  after  me ;  nay,  I  cannot  write  a  note 
that  she  does  not  immediately  acquaint  papa,  who  is 
certain  to  stroll  into  my  apartment  and  ask  to  see  the  con- 
tents of  it,  adding — '  Helen,  when  a  young  lady  of  rank 
and  property  forms  a  clandestine  and  disgraceful  attach- 
ment, it  is  time  that  her  father  should  be  on  the  look-out ; 
so  I  will  just  take  the  liberty  of  throwing  my  eye  over  this 
little  billet-doux!  I  told  him  often  that  he  was  at  liberty 
to  inspect  every  line  I  should  write,  but  that  I  thought 
that  very  few  parents  would  express  such  want  of  con- 
fidence in  their  daughters,  if,  like  me,  the  latter  had 
deserved  such  confidence  at  their  hands  as  I  did  at  his." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  your  present  maid  I"  asked 
Reilly,  musing. 

"  Oh,"  replied  Miss  Folliard,  "  I  have  three  maids  al- 
together, but  she  has  been  installed  as  own,  maid.  Her 
name  is  Eliza  Herbert." 

"A  native  of  England,  is  she  not?  Eliza  Herbert!"  he 
exclaimed ;  "  in  the  lowermost  depths  of  perdition  there 
is  not  such  a  villain.  This  Eliza  Herbert  is  neither  more 
nor  less  than  one  of  his — but  I  will  not  pain  your  pure  and 
delicate  mind  by  mentioning  at  further  length  what  she  is 
and  was  to  him.  Tne  clergyman  of  the  parish,  Mr.  Brown, 
knows  the  whole  circumstances.  See  him  at  church,  and 
get  him  to  communicate  them  to  your  father.  Tne  fact  is, 
this  villain,  who  is  at  once  cunniug  and  parsimonious,  had 
a  double  motive,  each  equally  base  and  diabolical,  in  send- 
ing her  here.  In  the  hist  place,  he  wished,  by  getting  her 
a  good  place,  to  make  your  father  the  unconscious  means  of 
rewarding  her  profligacy  ;  and  in  the  second  of  keeping 
her  as  a  spy  upon  you." 


WILLY  REILLY.  2U 

A  blush,  resulting  from  her  natural  sense  of  delicacy,  as 
well  as  from  the  deepest  iudignation  at  a  man  who  did  not 
scruple  to  place  the  woman  whom  he  looked  upon  as  almost 
immediately  to  become  his  wile,  in  the  society  of  such  a 
wretch — such  a  blush,  we  say,  overspread  her  whole  neck 
and  face,  and  for  about  two  minutes  she  shed  bitter  tears. 
Bat  she  felt  the  necessity  of  terminating  their  interview, 
from  an  apprehension  thai  Miss  Herbert,  as  she  was  called, 
on  not  finaing  her  in  the  room,  might  institute  a  search, 
and  in  this  sue  was  not  mistaken. 

She  had  scarcely  concluded  when  the  shrill  voice  of  Miss 
Herbert  was  heard,  as  she  rushed  rapidly  down  the  stairs, 
screaming,  *«  Oh,  la!  oh,  dear  me!  oh,  my  goodness! 
Where,  where — oh,  bless  me,  did  any  one  see  MissFolliardT 

Lanigan,  however,  had  prepared  for  anything  like  a  sur- 
prise. He  planted  himself,  as  a  sentinel,  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  and  the  moment  he  heard  the  alarm  of  Miss  Herbert 
on  her  way  down,  he  met  her  half-way  up,  after  having 
given  a  lou  1  significant  cough. 

"  Oh,  cook,  have  you  seen  Miss  Folliard  1  I  can't  find 
her  in  the  house !" 

"  Is  her  father  in  his  study,  Miss  Herbert  l  because  I 
want  to  spe  him ;  I'm  afeared  there's  a  screw  loose.  I  did 
see  Miss  F>ditrd  ;  she  went  out  a  few  minutes  ago — indeed 
she  rather  stole  out  towards  the  garden,  and  I  tell  you  the 
truth,  she  had  a  condemned  look  of  her  own.  Try  the 
garden,  and  if  you  don't  find  her  there,  go  to  the  back 
gate,  which  you'll  be  apt  to  find  open." 

"  Oh,  I  will,  I  will ;  thank  you,  cook.  I'm  certain  it's  an 
elopement." 

•*  Indeed  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  to  find,"  replied  Lani- 
gan, u  that  she  is  with  Reilly  this  moment ;  any  way  you 
haven't  a  minute  to  lose." 

She  started  towards  the  garden,  which  she  ran  over  and 
over;  and  there  we  shall  leave  her,  executing  the  fool's 
errand  upon  which  Lanigan  had  sent  her.  "Now,"  said 
he,  going  in,  "  the  coast 's  clear ;  I  have  sent  that  imper- 
tinent jade  out  to  the  garden,  and  as  the  back  gate  is  open 
— the  gardener's  men  are  wheeling  out  the  rubbish — and 
they  are  now  at  dinner — I  say,  as  the  back  gate  is  open, 
it's  ten  to  one  but  she'll  scour  the  country.     Now,  Miss 


•iyi  WILLY   REILLY. 

Folliard,  go  immediately  to  your  own  room;  as  for   this 
poor  man,  I  will  take  care  of  him." 

"  Most  sincerely  do  I  thank  you,  Lanigan ;  he  will  ar- 
range with  you  wheu  and  where  to  see  me  again. — Fare- 
well, Reilly — farewell;  rely  upon  my  constancy;"  and  so 
they  parted,  Reilly  to  the  kitchen,  and  the  Cooleen  Bawn 
to  her  own  room. 

"  Come  into  the  pantry,  poor  man/'  said  good-natured 
Lanigan,  addressing  our  hero,  "  till  I  give  you  something 
to  eat  and  drink." 

"  Many  thanks  to  you,  sir,"  replied  he ;  "  troth  and 
whaix  I  didn't  taste  a  morshel  for  the  last  f  whour — hugh — 
ugh — and  twenty  hours;  and  sure,  sir,  it's  this  cough  that's 
kiilin'  me  by  inches." 

A  thought  struck  Lanigan,  who  had  been  also  spoken  to 
by  the  gardener,  about  haif-an-hour  before,  to  know  if  he 
could  tell  him  where  he  might  have  any  chance  of  finding 
an  assistant.  At  all  events  they  went  into  the  pantry, 
wheu  Lanigan,  after  having  pulled  to  the  door,  to  prevent 
their  conversation  from  being  overheard,  disclosed  a  pro- 
ject which  had  just  entered  his  head,  of  procuring  Eeilly 
employment  in  the  garden.  Here  it  was  arranged  between 
them  that  the  latter,  who  was  both  a  good  botanist  and 
florist,  should  be  recommended  to  the  gardener  as  an 
assistant.  To  be  sure,  his  dress  and  appearance  were  both 
decidedly  against  him;  but  still  they  relied  upon  tho 
knowledge  which  Reiliy  confidently  assured  the  cook  that 
he  possessed.  Alter  leaving  the  pantry  with  Lanigan, 
whom  our  hero  thanked  in  a  thorough  brogue,  the  former 
called  after  him,  as  he  was  going  away : 

"  Come  here  again,  my  good  man." 

"What  is  it,  snir,  to  you?  God  bless  you  anyhow,  for 
your  charity  to  the — hugh — hugh — ugh — to  the  poor  man. 
Oh,  then,  but  it's  no  wondher  for  you  all  to  be  fat  and  rosy 
upon  sich  beautiful  vittles  as  you  gave  to  me,  shir.  What 
is  it,  achora  1  and  may  the  Lord  mark  you  wid  grace  !" 

"  Would  you  take  employment  from  the  master,  his 
honour  Mr.  Folliard,  if  you  got  it  V 

"  Arrah  now,  shir,  you  gave  me  my  skinful  of  what  was 
gud;  but  don't  be  makin'  fwhun  o'  me  after.  Would  I 
take  employment,  achora  i — ay,  but  where  would  I  get  it  ?" 


WILLY  REILLY.  233 

"  Could  you  work  in  a  garden  %  Do  you  know  anything 
about  plants  or  flowers  V 

"Oh  thin,  that  I  may  never  sup  sarra  (sorrow),  but 
that's  jist  what  I'm  fwhit  f  whor." 

"  I'm  afeared  this  scoundrel  is  but  an  imposthor  afther 
all,"  whispered  Lanigan  to  the  other  servants;  "but  in 
ordher  to  make  sure,  we'll  try  him.  I  say — what's  this 
your  name  is  V 

"  Solvesther  M'Bethershin,  shir." 

"  Well,  now,  would  you  have  any  objection  to  come  with 
me  to  the  garden,  and  see  the  gardener  1  But  hould,  here 
he  is.  Mr.  Malcomson,"  continued  Lanigan,  "here  is  a 
poor  man,  who  says  he  understands  plants  and  flowers,  and 
weeds  of  that  kind." 

"  Speak  wi'  reverence,  Mr.  Lanigan,  o'  the  art  o'  gerden- 
ing.  Dinna  ye  ken  that  the  founder  o'  the  hail  human 
race  was  a  gerdener  1  Hout  awa,  mon :  speak  o'  it  wi' 
respeck." 

"Upon  my  conscience,"  replied  Lanigan,  "whether  he 
was  a  good  gardener  or  not  is  more  than  I  know ;  but.  one 
thing  I  do  know,  that  he  didn't  hould  his  situation  long, 
and  mismanaged  his  orchard  disgracefully;  and,  indeed, 
like  many  more  of  his  tribe,  he  got  his  walkin'  papers  in 
double  quick — was  dismissed  without  a  characther — ay, 
and  his  wife,  like  many  another  gardener's  wife,  got  a  habit 
of  stalin'  the  apples.  However,  I  wish,  Mr.  Malcomson, 
that  you,  who  do  undherstand  gardening  would  thry  this 
fellow,  because  I  want  to  know  whether  he's  an  imposthor 
or  not." 

"  Weel,"  replied  Malcomson,  "  I  dinna  care  if  I  do. — 
We'll  soon  find  that  out.  Come  wi'  me  and  Maisther 
Lanigan  here,  and  we'll  see  what  you  ken  about  that 
sceentific  profession." 

They  accordingly  went  to  the  garden,  and  it  is  unneces- 
sary to  say  that  Reilly  not  only  bore  the  examination  well, 
but  proved  himself  by  far  the  better  botanist  of  the  two. 
He  tempered  his  answers,  however,  in  such  a  way  as  not 
to  allow  the  gardener's  va  ity  to  be  hurt,  in  which  case  he 
feared  that  he  might  have  little  chance  of  being  engaged. 


234  WILLY  RE1LLY. 

CHAPTER  XV. 

MORE  OF   WfllTECRAFT'S  PLOTS  AND  PRANKS. 

N  the  Sunday  following,  Miss  Folliard,  as  was  her 
usual  custom,  attended  divine  service  at  her  parish 
-^°  church,  accompanied  by  the  virtuous  Miss  Herbert, 
who  scarcely  ever  let  her  for  a  moment  out  of  her  sight, 
and,  in  fact,  added  grievously  to  the  misery  of  her  life. 
After  service  had  been  concluded,  she  waited  until  Mr. 
Brown  had  descended  from  the  pulpit,  when  she  accosted 
him,  and  expressed  a  wish  to  have  some  private  conversa- 
tion with  him  in  the  vestry-room.  To  this  room  they 
were  about  to  procee  1,  when  Miss  Herbert  advanced  with 
an  evident  intention  of  accompanying  them. 

"Mr.  Brown."  said  the  Cooleen  Baivn,  looking  at  him 
significantly,  "  I  wish  that  our  interview  should  be  private." 

"Certainly,  my  dear  Miss  Folliard,  and  so  it  shall  be. 
Pray,  who  is  this  lady  T* 

"  I  am  forced,  sir,  to  call  her  my  maid." 

Mr.  Brown  was  startled  a  good  deal,  not  only  at  the 
words,  but  the  tone  in  which  they  were  uttered. 

"Madam,"  said  he,  "you  will  please  to  remain  here  until 
your  mistress  shall  return  to  you.  or,  if  you  wish,  you  can 
amuse  yourself  by  reading  the  inscriptions  on  the  tomb- 
stones." 

"Oh,  but  I  have  been  ordered,"  replied  Miss  Herbert, 
"by  her  father  and  another  gentleman,  not  to  let  her  out 
of  my  sight." 

Mr.  Brown,  understanding  that  something  was  wrong, 
now  looked  at  her  more  clossiy,  after  which,  with  a  wither- 
ing frown,  he  said : 

"I  think  I  know  you,  madam,  and  I  am  very  sorry  to 
hear  that  you  are  an  attendant  upon  this  amiable  lady. 
Remain  where  you  are,  and  don't  attempt  to  intrude  your- 
self as  an  ear- witness  to  any  communication  Miss  Folliard 
may  have  to  make  to  me." 

The  profligate  creature  and  unprincipled  spy  bridled, 
looked   disdain  and  bitterness  at  the  amiable  clergyman, 


WILLY  REILLY.  235 

who,  accompanied  by  our  heroine,  retired  to  the  vestry. 
It  is  unnecessary  to  detail  their  conversation*  which  was 
sustained  by  the  Cooleen  Bawn  with  bitter  tears.  It  is 
enough  to  say  that  tne  good  and  pious  minister,  though 
not  aware  until  then  that  Miss  Herbert  had,  by  the 
scoundrel  baronet,  been  intruded  into  Squire  Folliard's 
family,  was  yet  acquainted,  from  peculiar  sources,  with  the 
nature  of  the  immoral  relation  iu  which  she  stood  to  that 
hypocrite.  He  felt  shocked  beyond  belief,  and  assured  the 
weeping  girl  that  he  would  call  the  next  day  and  disclose 
the  treacherous  design  to  her  father,  who,  he  said,  could 
not  possibly  have  been  aware  of  the  wretch's  character 
when  he  admitted  her  into  his  family.  Tney  then  parted, 
and  our  heroine  was  obliged  to  take  this  vile  creature  into 
the  carriage  with  her  home.  On  their  return,  Miss  Herbert 
began  to  display  at  once  the  malignity  of  her  disposition, 
and  the  volubility  of  her  tongue,  in  a  fierce  attack  upon, 
what  she  termed,  the  ungeutlemanly  conduct  of  Mr. 
Brown.  To  all  she  said,  however,  Helen  uttered  not  one 
syllable  of  reply.  She  neither  looked  at  her  nor  noticed 
her,  but  sat  in  profound  silence,  not,  however,  without  a 
distracted  mind  and  breaking  heart. 

Ou  the  next  day  the  Squire  took  a  fancy  to  look  at  the 
state  of  bis  garden,  and,  having  got  his  hat  and  cane,  he 
sallied  out  to  observe  how  matters  were  going  on,  now  that 
Mr.  Malcomson  had  got  an  assistant,  whom,  by-the-way,  he 
had  not  yet  seen. 

"  Now,  Malcomson,"  said  he,  "  as  you  have  found  an 
assistant,  I  hope  you  will  soon  bring  my  garden  into 
decent  trim.  What  kind  of  a  chap  is  he,  and  how  did  you 
come  by  him  1" 

"Saul,  your  honour,"  replied  Malcomson,  "he's  a  devilish 
clever  chiel,  and  vara  weel  acquent  wi'  our  noble  profes- 
sion." 

"  Confound  yourself  and  your  noble  profession !  I  think 
every  Scotch  gardener  of  you  believes  himself  a  gentleman, 
simply  because  he  can  nail  a  few  stripes  of  old  blanket 
against  a  wall.     How  <iid  you  come  by  this  fellow,  I  say?" 

"Ou,  just  through  Lankan,  the  cook,  your  honour;" 

"Did  Lanigan  know  him?" 

"  Hout  no,  your  honour — it  was  an  act  o'  charity  like." 


236  WILLY  REILLY. 

"Ay,  ay,  Lanigan's  a  kind-hearted  old  fool,  and  that's 
just  like  him ;  but,  in  the  meantime,  let  me  see  this  chap?" 

"  There  he  is,  your  honour,  trimming,  and  taking  care  of 
that  bed  of  *  Love-lies-bleeding.' " 

"Ay,  ay;  I  dare  say  my  daughter  set  him  to  that  task." 

"  Na,  na,  sir.  The  young  leddy  hasna  seen  him  yet,  nor 
hasna  been  in  the  gerden  for  the  last  week." 

"  Why,  confound  it,  Malcomson,  that  feUow's  more  like 
a  beggarman  than  a  gardener." 

"  Saul,  but  he's  a  capital  hand  for  a'  that.  Your  honour's 
no'  to  tak  the  beuk  by  the  cover.  To  be  sure  he's  awfully 
vulgar,  but,  ma  faith,  he  has  a  richt  gude  knowledgeable 
apprehension  o'  buttany  and  gerdening  in  generhal." 

The  Squire  then  approached  our  under-gardener,  and 
accosted  him. 

"  Well,  my  good  fellow,  so  you  understand  gardening  V 

"A  little,  your  haner,"  replied  the  other,  respectfully 
touching  his  hat,  or  caubeen,  rather. 

"  Are  you  a  native  of  this  neighbourhood  f 

"No,  your  hauer.  I'm  fwarther  up — from  Westport, 
your  haner." 

"  Who  were  you  engaged  with  last  I" 

"  I  wasn't  engaged,  shir, — it  was  only  job-work  I  was 
able  to  do — the  health  wasn't  gud  wid  me." 

"  Have  you  no  better  clothes  than  these  1" 

"  You  see  all  that  I  have  on  me,  shir." 

"  Well,  come,  I'll  give  you  the  price  of  a  suit,  rather  than 
see  such  a  scarecrow  in  my  garden." 

"  I  couldn't  take  it,  shir." 

"  The  devil,  you  couldn't !     Why  not,  man  I" 

"  Bdkaise,  shir,  I'm  undher  piaance." 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  shave  V 

u  I  can't,  shir,  for  de  same  raison." 

"  Pooh,  pooh !  what  the  devil  did  you  do  that  they  put 
such  a  penance  on  you  V 

11  Why,  I  runned  away  wit'  a  young  woman,  shir." 

"  Upon  my  soul  you're  a  devilish  likely  fellow  to  run 
away  with  a  young  woman,  and  a  capital  taste  she  must 
have  had  to  go  with  you ;  but,  perhaps,  you  took  her  away 
by  violence,  eh?" 

"No,  shir;  she  was  willin'  enough  to  come;   but  her 


WILLY  REILLY.  237 

fadher  wouldn't  consint,  and  so  we  made  off  wit* .ourselves." 

This  was  a  topic  on  which  the  Squire,  for  obvious 
reasons,  did  not  like  to  press  him.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  sore 
subject,  and,  accordingly,  he  changed  it. 

"I  suppose  you  have  been  about  the  country  a  good 
deal?' 

"  T  have,  indeed,  your  haner." 

"Did  you  ever  happen  to  hear  of,  or  to  meet  with,  a 
person  called  Reilly  V 

"  Often,  shir  ;  met  many  o'  dem." 

"  Oh,  but  I  mean  the  scoundrel  called  Willy  Eeilly." 

"  Is  dat  him  dat  left  de  country,  shir  V 

11  Why,  how  do  you  know  that  he  has  left  the  country?' 

"  I  don't  know  myself,  shir ;  but  dat  de  people  does  be 
sayin'  it.  Dey  say  dat  himself  and  wan  of  our  bishops 
went  to  France  togeder." 

The  Squire  seemed  to  breathe  more  freely,  as  he  said,  in 
a  low  soliloquy,  "I'm  devilish  glad  of  it;  for,  after  all,  it 
would  go  against  my  heart  to  hang  the  fellow."  "  Well,"' 
he  said  aloud,  "so  he's  gone  to  France  ?" 

"  So  de  people  does  be  sayin',  shir." 

"  Well,  tell  me — do  you  know  a  gentleman  called  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft  f 

"  Is  dat  him,  shir,  dat  keeps  de  misses  privately." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  he  keeps  misses  privately." 

"  Fwhy,  shir,  dey  say  his  last  one  was  a  Miss  Herbert, 
and  dat  she  had  a  young  one  by  him,  and  dat  she  was  an 
Englishwoman.  It  isn't  ginerally  known,  I  believe,  shir, 
but  dey  do  be  sayin'  dat  she  was  brought  to  bed  in  de 
cottage  of  some  bad  woman  named  Mary  Mahon,  dat  does 
be  on  de  look-out  to  get  sweethearts  for  him." 

"  There's  five  thirteens  for  you,  and  I  wish  to  God,  my 
good  fellow,  that  you  would  allow  yourself  to  be  put  in 
better  feathers." 

"Oh,  I  expect  my  pinance  will  be  out  before  a  mont', 
shir ;  but,  until  den,  I  couldn't  take  any  money." 

"Malcomson,"  said  he  to  the  gardener,  "I  think  that 
fellow's  a  half  fool.  I  offered  him  a  crown,  and  also  said  I 
would  get  him  a  suit  of  clothes,  and  he  would  not  take 
either ;  but  talked  about  some  silly  penance  he  was  under- 


238  WILLY  REILLY. 

"Saul,  then,  your  honour,  he  may  be  a  fule  in  ither 
thing3,  but  de'il  a  ane  of  him's  a  fule  in  the  sceence  o' 
buttany.  As  to  that  penance,  it's  just  some  Papistrical 
nonsense  he  has  gotten  into  his  head — de'il  hae't  mair; 
but  sure  they're  a'  full  o't — a'  o'  the  same  graft,  an'  a  bad 
one  I  fear  it  is." 

11  Well,  I  believe  so,  Malcomson,  I  believe  so.  However, 
if  the  unfortunate  fool  is  clever,  give  him  good  wages." 

"Saul,  your  honour,  I'll  do  him  justice;  only  I  think 
that,  anent  that  penance  he  spaks  o',  the  hail  Papish 
population,  bad  as  we  think  them,  are  suffering  penance 
eneuch,  one  way  or  tither.  It  disna'  b?seem  a  Protestant 
— that  is,  a  prelatic  Government — to  persecute  ony  portion 
o'  Christian  people,  on  account  o'  their  religion.  We  have 
felt  and  kenned  that  in  Scotland  sairly.  I'm  no  freend  to 
persecution,  in  ony  shape.  But,  as  to  this  chiel,  I  ken 
naething  aboot  him,  but  that  he  is  a  gude  buttanist. 
Hout,  3  our  honour,  to  be  sure  I'll  gi'e  him  a  fair  wage  foi 
his  skeel  and  labour." 

Malcomson,  who  was  what  we  have  often  met,  a  pedant 
gardener,  saw,  however,  that  the  Squire's  mind  was  dis- 
turbed. In  the  short  conversation  which  they  had,  he 
spoke  abruptly,  and  with  a  flushed  countenance ;  but  he 
was  too  shrewd  to  ask  him  why  he  seemed  so.  It  was 
not,  he  knew,  his  business  to  do  so  ;  and  as  the  Squire  left 
the  garden,  to  pass  into  the  house,  he  looked  after  him, 
and  exclaimed  to  himself — "My  certie,  there's  a  bee  in 
that  man's  bonnet." 

On  going  to  the  drawing-room,  the  Squire  found  Mr. 
Brown  there,  and  Helen  in  tears, 

"How!"  he  exclaimed,  "what  is  this  1  Helen  crying! 
Why,  what's  the  matter,  my  child]  Brown,  have  you 
been  scolding  her,  or  reading  her  a  homily  to  teach  her 
repentance  !  Confound  me,  but  I  know  it  would  teach  her 
)atience,  at  all  events.     What  is  the  matter  V* 

"My  dear  Miss  Folliard,"  said  the  clergyman,  "if  you 
will  have  the  goodness  to  withdraw,  I  will  explain  this 
shocking  business  to  }'our  father." 

"Shocking  business!  Why,  in  God's  name,  Brown, 
what,  has  happened  ?  And  why  is  my  daughter  iu  tears,  1 
ask  again  1" 


WILLY  REILLY.  239 

Helen  now  left  the  drawing-room,  and  Mr.  Brown  re- 
plied: 

"  Sir,  a  circumstance  which,  for  baseness  and  diabolical 
iniquity,  is  unparalleled  in  civilised  society.  I  could  not 
pollute  your  daughter's  ears  by  reciting  it  in  her  presence, 
and  besides  she  is  already  aware  of  it." 

"Ay,  but  what  is  it  ?  Confound  you,  don't  keep  me  on 
tenter-hooks." 

"I  shall  not  do  so  long,  my  dear  friend.  Who  do  you 
imagine  your  daughter's  maid — I  mean  that  female  atten- 
dant upon  your  pure-minded  and  virtuous  child,  is  V 

"Faith,  go  ask  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft.  It  was  he 
recommended  her ;  for,  on  hearing  that  the  maid  she  had, 
Ellen  Connor,  was  a  Papist,  he  said  he  felt  uneasy  lest  she 
might  prevail  on  my  daughter  to  turn  Catholic,  and  marry 
Reilly." 

"  But  do  you  not  know  who  the  young  woman  that  is 
about  your,  daughter's  person  is]  You  are,  however,  a 
father  who  loves  your  child,  and  I  need  not  ask  such  a 
question.  Then,  sir,  I  will  tell  you  who  she  is.  Sir,  she 
is  one  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's  cast-off  mistresses — a 
profligate  wanton,  who  has  had  a  child  by  him." 

The  fiery  old  Squire  had  been  walking  to-and-fro  the 
room,  in  a  state  of  considerable  agitation  before — his  mind 
already  charged  with  the  same  intelligence,  as  he  had 
heard  it  from  the  gardener  (Keilly).  He  now  threw  him- 
self into  a  chair,  and  putting  his  hands  before  his  face, 
muttered  out  between  his  fingers — "D — n  seize  the  villain! 
It  is  true,  then.  Well,  never  mind,  I'll  demand  satisfaction 
for  this  insult — I  am  not  too  old  to  pull  a  trigger,  or  give 
a  thrust  yet ;  but  then  the  cowardly  hypocrite  won't  fight. 
When  he  has  a  set  of  military  at  his  back,  and  a  parcel  of 
unarmed  peasants  before  him,  or  an  unfortunate  priest  or 
two,  why,  he's  a  dare  devil — Hector  was  nothing  to  him ; 
no,  confound  me,  nor  mad  Tom  Simpson,  that  wears  a 
sword  on  each  side,  and  a  double  case  of  pistols,  to  frighten 
the  bailiffs.  The  scoundrel  of  hell ! — to  impose  on  me,  and 
insult  my  child  i" 

"  Mr.  Folliard,"  observed  the  clergyman,  calmly,  "  I  can, 
indeed,  scarcely  blame  your  indignation;  it  is  natural; 
but  at  the  same  time,  it  is  useless  and  unavailable.    Ba 


240  WILLY  REILLY. 

cool,  and  restrain  your  temper.  Of  course,  you  could  not 
think  of  bestowing  your  daughter,  in  marriage,  upon  this 
man." 

"I  tell  you  what,  Brown — I  tell  you  what,  my  dear 
friend — let  the  devil,  Satan,  Beelzebub,  or  whatever  you 
call  him  from  the  pulpit, — I  say,  let  him  come  here  any 
time  he  pleases,  in  his  holiday  hoofs  and  horns,  tail  and  all, 
and  he  shall  nave  her  sooner  than  Whitecrafc." 

Mr.  Brown  could  not  help  smiling,  whilst  he  said : 

"Of  course,  you  will  instantly  dismiss  this  abandoned 
creature." 

He  started  up,  and  exclaimed,  "  Cog's  'ounds,  what  am  I 
about  ?-'  He  instantly  rang  the  bell,  and  a  footmaa 
attended.  "John,  desire  that  wench,  Herbert,  to  come 
here." 

"Do  you  mean  Miss  Herbert,  sir?" 

"I  do — Miss  Herbert — egad,  you've  hit  it;  be  quick, 
sirra." 

John  bowed  and  withdrew,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Miss 
Herbert  entered. 

"  Miss  Herbert,"  said  the  Squire,  "  leave  this  house  as 
fast  as  the  devil  can  drive  you ;  and  he  has  driven  you  to 
some  purpose  before  now;  ay,  and,  I  dare  say,  will  again. 
I  say,  then,  as  fast  as  he  can  drive  you,  pack  up  your 
luggage,  and  begone  about  your  business.  I'll  j  lsc  give 
you  ten  minutes  to  disappear." 

"  What's  all  this  about,  master  ?" 

"Master  ! — why,  curse  your  brazen  impudence,  how  dare 
you  call  me  master  1     Begone,  you  jade  of  perdition !" 

"  No  more  a  jade  of  perdition,  sir,  than  you  are ;  nor  I 
shan't  begone  till  I  gets  a  quarter's  wages — I  tell  you  that." 

"  You  shall  get  whatever's  coming  to  you ;  not  another 
penny.     The  house-steward  will  pay  you — begone,  I  say !" 

"  No,  sir,  I  shan't  begone  till  I  gets  a  quarter's  salary  in 
full.  You  broke  your  agreement  with  me,  wich  is  wat  no 
man  as  is  a  gentleman  would  do ;  and  you  are  puttin'  me 
away,  too,  without  no  cause." 

"  Cause,  you  vagabond !  you'll  find  the  cause  squalling,  I 
suppose,  in  Mary  Mahon's  cottage,  somewhere  near  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft's ;  and  when  you  see  him,  tell  him  I 
have  a  crow  to  pluck  with  him.     Off,  I  say." 


WILLY  REILLY.  241 

"Oh,  I  suppose  you  mean  the  love-child  I  had  by  him 
— ha,  ha  !  is  that  all  %  But  I  never  had  a  hankerin'  after  a 
rebel  and  a  Papist,  wich  is  far  worser ;  and  I  now  tell  you, 
you're  no  gentleman,  you  nasty  old  Iiirish  Squire.  You 
brought  me  here,  and  Sir  Robert  sent  me  here,  to  watch 
your  daughter.  Now,  what  kind  of  a  young  lady  must  she 
be  as  requires  watching  %  /was  never  watched;  because 
as  how  I  was  well  conducted,  and  nothing  could  ever  be 
laid  to  my  charge  but  a  love-child." 

"By  the  great  Boyne,"  he  exclaimed,  running  to  the 
window,  and  throwing  up  the  sash, — "  yes,  by  the  great 
Boyne,  there  is  Tom  Steeple,  and  if  he  doesn't  bring  you 
and  the  pump  acquainted,  I'm  rather  mistaken.  Here, 
Tom,  I  have  a  job  for  you.  Do  you  wish  to  earn  a  bully 
dinner,  my  boy  ?" 

Miss  Herbert,  on  hearing  Tom's  name  mentioned,  dis- 
appeared like  lightning,  and  set  about  packing  her  things 
immediately.  The  steward,  by  his  master's  desire,  paid  her 
exactly  what  was  due  to  her,  which  she  received  without 
making  a  single  observation.  In  truth,  she  entertained 
such  a  terror  of  Tom  Steeple,  who  had  been  pointed  out  to 
her  as  a  wild  Irishman,  not  long  caught  in  the  mountains, 
that  she  stole  out  by  the  back  way,  and  came,  by  making  a 
circuit,  out  upon  the  road  that  led  to  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft's  house,  which  she  passed  without  entering,  but  went 
directly  to  Mary  Mahon's,  who  had  provided  a  nurse  for 
her  illegitimate  child  in  the  neighbourhood.  She  had  not 
been  there  long,  when  she  sent  her  trusty  friend,  Mary,  to 
acquaint  Sir  Robert  with  what  had  happened.  He  was 
from  home,  engaged  in  an  expedition  of  which  we  feel 
called  upon  to  give  some  account  to  the  reader. 

At  this  period,  when  the  persecution  ran  high  against 
the  Catholics,  but  with  peculiar  bitterness  against  their 
priesthood,  it  is  but  justice  to  a  great  number  of  the  Pro- 
testant magistracy  and  gentry — nay,  and  many  of  the 
nobility  besides — to  state  that  their  conduct  was  both 
liberal  and  generous  to  the  unfortunate  victims  of  those 
cruel  laws.  It  is  a  well-known  fact,  that  many  Protestant 
justices  of  the  peace  were  imprisoned  for  refusing  to 
execute  such  oppressive  edicts  as  had  gone  abroad  through 
the  country.     Many  of  them  resigned  their  commissions, 

Q 


212  WILLY  REILLY. 

and  many  more  were  deprived  of  them.  Amongst  the 
latter  were  several  liberal  noblemen — Protestants — who 
had  sufficient  courage  to  denounce  the  spirit  in  which  the 
country  was  governed  and  depopulated  at  the  same  time. 
One  of  the  latter — a  nobleman  of  the  highest  rank  and 
acquirements,  and  of  the  most  amiable  disposition,  a  warm 
friend  to  civil  freedom,  and  a  firm  antagonist  to  persecution 
and  oppression  of  every  hue — this  nobleman,  we  say, 
married  a  French  lady  of  rank  and  fortune,  who  was  a 
Catholic,  and  with  whom  he  lived  in  the  tenderest  love, 
and  the  utmost  domestic  felicity.  The  lady  being  a 
Catholic,  as  we  said,  brought  over  with  her,  from  France, 
a  learned,  pious,  and  venerable  ecclesiastic,  as  her  domestic 
chaplain  and  confessor.  This  man  had  been  professor  of 
divinity  for  several  years  in  the  college  of  Louvain;  but 
having  lost  his  health,  he  accepted  a  small  living  near  the 

chateau  of ■,  the  resideuce  of  Marquis   De , 

in  whose  establishment  he  was  domesticated  as  chaplain. 

In   short,   he   accompanied    Lord  and    his    lady   to 

Ireland,  where  he  acted  in  the  same  capacity,  but  so  far 
only  as  the  lady  was  concerned;  for,  as  we  have  already 
said,  her  husband,  though  a  liberal  man,  was  a  firm  but 
not  a  bigoted  Protestant.  This  harmless  old  man,  as  was 
very  natural,  kept  up  a  correspondence  with  several  Irish 
and  French  clergymen,  his  friends,  who,  as  he  had  done, 
held  professorships  in  the  same  college.  Many  of  the 
Irish  clergymen,  knowing  the  dearth  of  religious  instruc- 
tion which,  in  consequence  of  the  severe  state  of  the  laws, 
then  existed  in  Ireland,  were  naturally  anxious  to  know 
the  condition  of  the  country,  and  whether  or  not  any  re- 
laxation in  their  severity  had  taken  place,  with  a  hope  that 
they  might  be  able  with  safety  to  return  to  the  mission 
here,  and  bestow  spiritual  aid  and  consolation  to  the  suffer- 
ing and  necessarily  neglected  folds  of  their  own  persuasion. 
On  this  harmless  and  pious  old  man  the  eye  of  Hennessy 
rested.  In  point  of  fact  h^  set  him  for  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft,  to  whom  he  represente  i  him  as  a  spy  from  France, 
and  an  active  agent  of  the  Catholic  priesthood,  both  here 
and  on  the  Continent;  in  fact,  an  incendiary,  who,  feeling 
himself  sheltered  by  the  protection  of  the  nobleman  in 
question  and  his  Countess,  was  looked  upon  as  a  safe  man 


WILLY  REILLY.  243 

with  whom  to  hold  correspondence.  The  Abbe,  as  they 
termed  him,  was  in  the  habit,  by  his  lordship's  desire,  an'd 
that  of  his  lady,  of  attending  the  Catholic  sick  of  his  large 
estates,  administering  to  them  religious  instruction,  and 
the  ordinances  of  their  Church,  at  a  time  when  they  could 
obtain  them  from  no  other  source.  He  also  acted  as  their 
almoner,  and  distributed  relief  to  the  sick,  the  poor,  and 
the  distressed,  and  thus  passed  his  pious,  harmless,  and  in- 
offensive, but  useful  life.  Now  all  these  circumstances 
were  noted  by  Hennessy,  who  had  been  on  the  look-out,  to 
make  a  present  of  this  good  old  man  to  his  new  patron, 
Sir  Robert.  At  length  having  discovered — by  what  means 
it  is  impossible  to  conjecture — that  the  Abbi  was  to  go  on 
the  day  in  question,  to  relieve  a  poor  sick  family,  at  about 

a  distance  of  two  miles  from  Castle ,  the  intelligence 

was  communicated  by  Hennessy  to  Sir  Robert,  who  im- 
mediately set  out  for  the  place,  attended  by  a  party  of  his 
myrmidons,  conducted  to  it  by  the  Red  Rapparee,  who,  as 
we  have  said,  was  now  one  of  Whitecraft's  band.  There 
is  often  a  stupid  infatuation  in  villany  which  amounts  to 
what  they  call  in  Scotland  fey — that  is,  when  a  man  goes 
on  doggedly  to  commit  some  act  of  wickedness,  or  rush 
upon  some  impracticable  enterprise,  the  danger  and  folly  of 
which  must  be  evident  to  every  person  but  himself,  and 
that  it  will  end  in  the  loss  of  his  life.  Sir  Robert,  how- 
ever, had  run  a  long  and  prosperous  career  of  persecution 
— a  career  by  which  he  enriched  himself  by  the  spoils  he 
had  torn,  and  the  property  he  had  wrested  from  his  victims, 
generally  under  the  sanction  of  Government,  but  very  fre- 
quently under  no  other  sanction  than  his  own.  At  all 
events  the  party,  consisting  of  about  thirty  men,  remained 
in  a  deep  and  narrow  lane,  surrounded  by  high  whitethorn 
hedges,  which  prevented  the  horsemen — for  they  were  all 
dragoons — from  being  noticed  by  the  country  people. 
Alas,  for  the  poor  Abbi!  they  had  not  remained  there 
more  than  twenty  minutes  when  he  was  seen  approaching 
them,  reading  his  breviary  as  he  came  along.  They  did 
not  move,  however,  nor  seem  to  notice  him,  until  he  had 
got  into  the  midst  of  them,  when  they  formed  a  circle 
round  him,  and  the  loud  voice  of  Whitecraft  commanded 
him  to  stand.    The  poor  old  priest  closed  his  breviary,  and 


2  ±4  WILLY  REILLY. 

looked  around  him ;  but  he  felt  no  alarm,  because  he  was 
conscious  of  no  offence,  and  imagined  himself  safe  under 
the  protection  of  a  distinguished  Protestant  nobleman. 

"  Gentleman,"  said  he,  calmly  and  meekly,  but  without 
fear,  "what  is  the  cause  of  this  conduct  towards  an  in- 
offensive old  man  1     It  is  true,  I  am  a  Catholic  priest,  but 

I  am  under  the  protection  of  the  Marquis  of .     He  is 

a  Protestant  nobleman,  and  I  am  sure  the  very  mention  of 
his  name  will  satisfy  you,  that  I  cannot  be  the  object  either 
of  your  suspicion  or  your  enmity." 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  replied  Sir  Eobert,  "  the  nobleman 
you  mention  is  a  suspected  man  himself,  and  I  have  re- 
ported him  as  such  to  the  Government.  He  is  married  to 
a  Popish  wife,  and  you  who  are  a  seminary  priest  are 
harboured  by  her  and  her  husband." 

"  But  what  is  your  object  in  stopping  and  surrounding 
me,"  asked  the  priest,  "  as  if  I  were  some  public  delinquent 
who  had  violated  the  laws  %  Allow  me,  sir,  to  pass,  and 
prevent  me  at  your  peril ;  and  permit  me,  before  1  proceed, 
to  ask  your  name  V7  and  the  old  man's  eyes  flashed  with 
an  indignant  sense  of  the  treatment  he  was  receiving. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  Sir  Robert  WhitecraftT 

"  The  priest-hunter,  the  persecutor,  the  robber,  the 
murderer]  I  did,  with  disgust,  with  horror,  with  execra- 
tion. If  you  are  he,  I  say  to  you  that  I  am,  as  you  see,  an 
old  man,  and  a  priest,  and  have  but  one  life ;  take  it,  you 
will  anticipate  my  death  only  by  a  short  period;  but  I 
look  by  the  light  of  an  innocent  conscience  into  the  future, 
and  I  now  teli  you  that  a  woful  and  a  terrible  retribution 
is  hanging  over  your  head." 

"In  the  meantime,"  said  Sir  Robert,  very  calmly,  as  he 
dismounted  from  his  horse,  which  he  desired  one  of  the 
men  to  hold,  "I  have  a  warrant  from  Government  to 
arrest  you,  and  send  you  back  again  to  your  own  country 
without  delay.  You  are  here  as  a  spy,  an  incendiary,  and 
must  go  on  your  travels  forthwith.  In  this,  I  am  acting  as 
your  friend  and  protector,  and  so  is  Government,  who  do 
not  wish  to  be  severe  upon  you,  as  you  are  not  a  natural 
subject.  See,  sir,  here  is  another  warrant  for  your  arrest 
and  imprisonment.  The  fact  is,  it  was  left  to  my  own 
discretion,  either  to  imprison  you,  or  send  you  out  of  the 


WILLY  REILLY.  245 

country.     Now,  sir,  from  a  principle  of  lenity,  I  am  de- 
termined on  the  latter  course." 

"  But,"  replied  the  priest,  after  casting  his  eye  over  both 
documents,  "  as  I  am  conscious  of  no  offence,  either  against 
your  laws  or  your  Government,  I  decline  to  fly  like  a 
criminal,  and  I  will  not;  put  me  in  prison,  if  you  wish, 
but  I  certainly  shall  not  criminate  myself,  knowing  as  I  do 
that  I  am  innocent.  In  the  meantime,  I  request  that  you 
will  accompany  me  to  the  castle  of  my  patron,  that  I  may 
acquaint  him  with  the  charges  against  me,  and  the  cause  of 
my  being  forced  to  leave  his  family  for  a  time." 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Whitecraft,  "  I  cannot  do  so,  unless  I 
betray  the  trust  which  Government  reposes  in  me.  I  can- 
not permit  you  to  hold  any  intercourse  whatever  with  your 
patron,  as  you  call  him,  who  is  justly  suspected  of  being  a 
Papist  at  heart.  Sir,  you  have  been  going  abroad  through 
the  country,  under  pretence  of  administering  consolation 
to  the  sick,  and  bestowing  alms  upon  the  poor;  but  the 
fact  is,  you  have  been  stirring  them  up  to  sedition,  if  not 
to  open  rebellion.  You  must,  therefore,  come  along  with 
us,  this  instant.  You  proceed  with  us  to  Sligo,  from 
whence  we  shall  ship  you  off  in  a  vessel  bound  for  France, 
which  vessel  is  commanded  by  a  friend  of  mine,  who  will 
treat  you  kindly  for  my  sake.  What  shall  we  do  for  a 
horse  for  him  ?"  he  asked,  looking  at  his  men  for  informa- 
tion on  that  point. 

"That,  your  honour,  we'll  provide  in  a  crack,"  replied 
the  Eed  Eapparee,  looking  up  the  road ;  "  here  comes 
Sterling,  the  gauger,  very  well  mounted,  and,  by  all  the  stills 
he  ever  seized,  he  must  walk  home  upon  shank's  mare,  if  it 
was  only  to  give  him  exercise  and  improve  his  appetite." 

We  need  not  detail  this  open  robbery  on  the  king's 
officer,  and  on  the  king's  highway  besides.  It  is  enough  to 
say  that  the  Eapparee,  confident  of  protection  and  im- 
punity, with  the  connivance,  although  not  by  the  express 
orders  of  the  baronet,  deprived  the  man  of  his  horse,  and, 
in  a  few  minutes,  the  poor  old  priest  was  placed  upon  the 
saddle,  and  the  whole  cavalcade  proceeded  on  their  way  to 
Sligo,  the  priest  in  the  centre  of  them.  Fortunately  for 
Sir  Eobert's  project,  they  reached  the  quay  just  as  the 
vessel  alluded  to  was  about  to  sail ;  and  as  there  was,  at 


2-16  WILLY  REILLY. 

that  period,  no  novelty  in  seeing  a  priest  shipped  out  of 
the  country,  the  loungers  about  the  place,  whatever  they 
might  have  thought  in  their  hearts,  seemed  to  take  no 
particular  notice  of  the  transaction. 

"Your  honour,"  said  the  Red  Rapparee,  approaching 
and  giving  a  military  salute  to  his  patron,  "  will  you  allow 
me  to  remain  in  town  for  an  hour  or  two?  I  have  a 
scheme  in  my  head  that  may  come  to  something.  I  will 
tell  your  honour  what  it  is,  when  I  get  home." 

"Very  well,  O'Donnel,"  replied  Sir  Robert;  "but  I'd 
advise  you  not  to  ride  late,  if  you  can  avoid  it.  You  know 
that  every  man  in  your  uniform  is  a  mark  for  the  vindic- 
tive resentment  of  these  Popish  rebels." 

"Ah!  maybe  I  don't  know  that,  your  honour;  but  you 
may  take  my  word  for  it,  that  I  will  lose  little  time." 

He  then  rode  down  a  by-street,  very  coolly,  taking  the 
gauger's  horse  along  with  him.  The  reader  may  remember 
the  fable  of  the  cat  that  had  been  transformed  into  a  lady, 
and  the  unfortunate  mouse.  The  Rapparee,  whose  original 
propensities  were  strong  as  ever,  could  not,  for  the  soul  of 
him,  resist  the  temptation  of  selling  the  horse  and  pocket- 
ing the  amount.  He  did  so,  and  very  deliberately  proceeded 
home  to  his  barracks,  but  took  care  to  avoid  any  private 
communication  with  his  patron,  for  some  days,  lest  he  might 
question  him  as  to  what  he  had  done  with  the  animal. 

In  the  meantime,  this  monstrous  outrage  upon  an 
unoffending  priest,  who  was  a  natural  subject  of  France, 
perpetrated,  as  it  was,  in  the  open  face  of  day,  and 
witnessed  by  so  many,  could  not,  as  the  reader  may  expect, 
be  long  concealed.     It  soon  reached  the  ears  of  the  Marquis 

of and  his  lady,  who  were  deeply  distressed  at  the 

disappearance  of  their  aged  and  revered  friend.  The 
Marquis,  on  satisfying  himself  of  the  truth  of  the  report, 
did  not,  as  might  have  been  expected,  wait  upon  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft ;  but  without  loss  of  time,  set  sail  for  London, 
to  wait  upon  the  French  Ambassador,  to  whom  he  detailed 
the  whole  circumstances  of  the  outrage.  And  here  we 
shall  not  further  proceed  with  an  account  of  those  circum- 
stances, as  they  will  necessarily  intermingle  with  that 
portion  of  the  narrative  which  is  to  follow. 


WILLY  REILLY.  247 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

SIPw  ROBERT  INGENIOUSLY  EXTRICATES  HIMSELF  OUT  OF 
A  GREAT  DIFFICULTY. 

N  the  day  after  the  outrage  we  have  described,  the 
indignant  old  Squire's  carriage  stopped  at  the  hall- 

-^^  door  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  whom  he  found  at 
home.  As  yet,  the  latter  gentleman  had  heard  nothing  of 
the  contumelious  dismissal  of  Miss  Herbert;  but  the  old 
Squire  was  not  ignorant  of  the  felonious  abduction  of  the 
priest.  At  any  other  time,  that  is  to  say,  in  some  of  his 
peculiar  stretches  of  loyalty,  the  act  might  have  been  a 
feather  in  the  cap  of  the  loyal  baronet ;  but,  at  present,  he 
looked  both  at  him  and  his  exploits  through  the  medium  of 
the  insult  he  had  offered  to  his  daughter.  Accordingly, 
when  he  entered  the  baronet's  library,  where  he  found  him 
literally  sunk  in  papers,  anonymous  letters,  warrants, 
reports  to  Government,  and  a  vast  variety  of  other  docu- 
ments, the  worthy  Sir  Robert  rose,  and  in  the  most  cordial 
manner,  and  with  the  most  extraordinary  suavity  of  aspect, 
held  out  his  hand,  saying : 

"  How  much  obliged  am  I,  Mr.  Folliard,  at  the  kindness 
of  this  visit,  especially  from  one  who  keeps  at  home  so 
much  as  you  do." 

The  Squire  instantly  repulsed  him,  and  replied : 

"No,  sir ;  I  am  an  honest,  and,  I  trust,  an  honourable 
man.  My  hand,  therefore,  shall  never  touch  that  of  a 
villain." 

"A  villain! — why,  Mr.  Folliard,  these  are  hard  and 
harsh  words,  and  they  surprise  me,  indeed,  as  proceeding 
from  your  lips.  May  I  beg,  my  friend,  that  you  will 
explain  yourself?' 

"  I  will,  sir.  How  durst  you  take  the  liberty  of  sending 
one  of  your  cast-off  strumpets  to  attend  personally  upon 
my  pure  and  virtuous  daughter  1  For  that  insult  I  come 
this  day  to  demand  that  satisfaction  which  is  due  to  the 
outraged  feelings  of  my  daughter — to  my  own  also,  as  her 
father  and  natural  protector,  and  also  as  an  Irish  gentle- 


'Jib  WILLY  REILLY. 

man,  who  will  brook  no  insult  either  to  his  family  or 
himself.  I  say,  then,  name  your  time  and  place,  and  your 
weapon — sword  or  pistol,  I  don't  care  which, — I  am  ready/' 

"But,  my  good  sir,  there  is  some  mystery  here;  I 
certainly  engaged  a  female  of  that  name  to  attend  on  Miss 
Folliard,  but  most  assuredly  she  was  a  well-conducted 
person." 

"  What !  Madam  Herbert  well  conducted !  Do  you 
imagine,  sir,  that  I  am  a  fool  1  Did  she  not  admit  that  you 
debauched  her  f* 

"  It  could  not  be,  Mr.  Folliard ;  I  know  nothing  what- 
soever about  her,  except  that  she  was  daughter  to  one  of 
my  tenants,  who  is  besides  a  sergeant  of  dragoons." 

"  Ah,  yes,  sir,"  replied  the  Squire,  sarcastically ;  "  and 
I  tell  you  it  was  not  for  killing  and  eating  the  ene  my  that 
he  was  promoted  to  his  sergeantship.  But  I  see  your 
manoeuvre,  Sir  Robert ;  you  wish  to  shift  the  conversation, 
and  sleep  in  a  whole  skin.  I  say  now,  I  have  provided 
myself  with  a  friend,  and  I  ask,  will  you  fi^ht  V 

"And  why  not  have  sent  your  friend,  Mr.  Folliard,  as  is 
usual  upon  such  occasions  V 

"  Because  he  is  knocked  up,  after  a  fit  of  drink,  and  I 
cannot  be  just  so  cool,  under  such  an  insult,  as  to  command 
patience  to  wait.  My  friend,  however,  will  attend  us  on 
the  ground ;  but,  I  ask  again,  will  you  fight  V 

"Most  assuredly  not,  sir;  I  am  an  enemy  to  duelling, 
Dn  principle ;  but,  in  your  case,  I  could  not  think  of  it, 
even  if  I  were  not.  What !  raise  my  hand  against  the  life 
of  Helen's  father! — no,  sir,  I'd  sooner  die  than  do  so. 
Besides,  Mr.  Folliard,  I  am,  so  to  speak,  not  my  own 
property,  but  that  of  my  King,  my  Government,  and  my 
country  ;  and  under  these  circumstances,  not  at  liberty  to 
dispose  of  my  life,  unless  in  their  quarrel." 

"I  see,"  replied  the  Squire  bitterly;  "it  is  certainly  an 
admirable  description  of  loyalty  that  enables  a  man,  who  is 
base  enough  to  insult  the  very  woman  who  was  about  to 
become  his  wife,  and  to  involve  her  own  father  in  the 
insult,  to  ensconce  himself,  like  a  coward,  behind  his 
loyalty,  and  refuse  to  give  the  satisfaction  of  a  man,  or  a 
gentleman." 

"  But,  Mr.  Folliard.  wUl  you  hear  me  1     There  must,  as- 1 


WILLY  REILLY.  249 

said,  be  some  mystery  here  ;  I  certainly  did  recommend  a 
young  female  named  Herbert  to  you,  but  I  was  utterly 
ignorant  of  what  you  mention." 

Here  the  footman  entered,  and  whispered  something  to 
Sir  Robert,  who  apologised  to  the  Squire  for  leaving  him 
two  or  three  minutes.  "  Here  is  the  last  paper,"  said  he, 
"  and  I  trust  that  before  you  go  I  will  be  able  to  remove 
clearly  and  fully  the  prejudices  which  you  entertain  against 
me,  and  which  originate,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  in  a 
mystery  which  I  am  unable  to  penetrate." 

He  then  followed  the  servant,  who  conducted  him  to 
Hennessy,  whom  he  found  in  the  back  parlour. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Hennessy,"  said  he,  impatiently,  "  what  is 
the  matter  now  I" 

"Why,"  replied  the  other,  "I  have  one  as  good  as 
bagged,  Sir  Robert." 

"One  what?" 

"  Why,  a  priest,  sir." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Hennessy,  I  am  particularly  engaged  now ; 
but  as  to  Reilly,  can  you  not  come  upon  his  trail  1  I  would 
rather  have  him  than  a  dozen  priests ;  however,  remain 
here,  for  about  twenty  minutes,  or  say  half  an  hour,  and  I 
will  talk  with  you  at  more  length.  For  the  present  I  am 
most  particularly  engaged." 

"  Very  well,  Sir  Robert,  I  shall  await  your  leisure ;  but, 
as  to  Reilly,  I  have  every  reason  to  think  that  he  has  left 
the  country," 

Sir  Robert,  on  going  into  the  hall,  saw  the  porter  open 
the  door,  and  Miss  Herbert  presented  herself. 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  "  is  this  you  1  I  am  glad  you  came ; 
follow  me  into  the  front  parlour." 

She  accordingly  did  so ;  and  after  he  had  shut  the  door, 
he  addressed  her  as  follows : 

"Now,  tell  me  how  the  devil  you  were  discovered ;  or 
were  you  accessory  yourself  to  the  discovery,  by  your 
egregious  folly  and  vanity  1" 

"  Oh,  la,  Sir  Robert,  do  you  think  I  am  a  fool  ?" 

"  I  fear  you  are  little  short  of  it,"  he  replied ;  "  at  all 
events,  you  have  succeeded  in  knocking  up  my  marriage 
with  Miss  Folliard.  How  did  it  happen  that  they  found 
you  out  T 


250  WILLY  REILLY. 

She  then  detailed  to  him.  the  circumstances  exactly  as 
the  reader  is  acquainted  with  them. 

He  paused   for   some   time,  and  then  said:  "There  is 
some  mystery  at  the  bottom  of  this  which  I  must  fathom. 
Have  you  any  reason  to  know  how  the  family  became 
acquainted  with  your  history]" 
"  No,  sir;  not  in  the  least." 

"Do  you  think  Miss  Folliard  meets  any  person  pri- 
vately r 

"Not,  sir,  while  I  was  with  her." 
"Did  she  ever  attempt  to  go  out  by  herself  V 
"  Not,  sir,  while  I  was  with  her." 

"  Very  well,  then,  I'll  tell  you  what  you  must  do ;  her 
father  is  above  with  me  now,  in  a  perfect  hurricane  of 
indignation.     Now  you  must  say  that  the  girl  Herbert, 
whom  I  recommended  to  the  Squire,  was  a  friend  of  yours ; 
that  she  gave  you  the  letter  of  recommendation  which  I 
gave  her  to  Mr.  Folliard ;  that  having  married  her  sweet- 
heart and  left  the  country  with  him,  you  were  tempted 
to  present  yourself  in  her  stead,  and  to  assume  her  name. 
I  will  call  you  Up  by-and-by ;  but  what  name  will  you  take  V 
"My  mother's  name,  sir,  was  Wilson." 
"  Very  good ;   what  was  her  Christian  name  V 
"  Catherine,  sir." 

"And  you  must  say  that  I  knew  nothing  whatsoever  of 
the  imposture  you  were  guilty  of.  I  shall  make  it  worth 
your  while ;  and  if  you  don't  get  well  through  with  it,  and 
enable  me  to  bamboozle  the  old  fellow,  I  have  done  with 
you.     I  shall  send  for  you  by-and-by." 

He  then  rejoined  the  Squire,  who  was  walking  im- 
patiently about  the  room. 

11  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  he,  "  I  have  to  apologise  to  you  for 
this  seeming  neglect;  I  had  most  important  business  to 
transact,  and  I  merely  went  down  stairs  to  tell  the  gentle- 
man that  I  could  not  possibly  attend  to  it  now,  and  to 
request  him  to  come  in  a  couple  of  hours  hence ;  pray 
excuse  me ;  for  no  business  could  be  so  important  as  that 
in  which  I  am  now  engaged  with  you." 

"  Yes,  but  in  the  name  of  an  outraged  father,  I  demand 
again  to  know  whether  you  will  give  me  satisfaction  or 
not?" 


WILLY  REILLY.  251 

"  I  have  already  answered  you,  my  dear  sir,  and  if  you 
will  reflect  upon  the  reasons  I  have  given  you,  1  am  certain 
you  will  admit  that  I  have  the  laws  both  of  God  and  man 
on  my  side,  and  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  regulate  my  conduct 
by  both.  As  to  the  charge  you  bring  against  me,  about  the 
girl  Herbert,  I  am  both  ignorant  and  innocent  of  it." 

"  Why,  sir,  how  can  you  say  so?  how  have  you  the  face 
to  say  so  1  did  you  not  give  her  a  letter  of  recommendation 
to  me,  pledging  yourself  for  her  moral  character  and 
fidelity?" 

"I. grant  it,  but  still  I  pledge  you  my  honour  that  I 
looked  upon  her  as  an  extremely  proper  person  to  be  about 
your  daughter  ;  you  know,  sir,  that  you  as  well  as  I  have  had 
— and  have  still — apprehensions  as  to  Reilly's  conduct  and 
influence  over  her ;  and  I  did  fear,  and  so  did  you,  that  the 
maid  who  then  attended  her,  and  to  whom  I  was  told  she 
was  attached  with  such  unusual  affection,  might  have 
availed  herself  of  her  position,  and  either  attempted  to 
seduce  her  from  her  faith,  or  connive  at  private  meetings 
with  Reilly." 

"Sir  Eobert,  I  know  your  plausibility — and  upon  my 
soul  I  pay  it  a  high  compliment  when  I  say  it  is  equal  to 
your  cowardice."   . 

"  Mr.  Folliard,  I  can  bear  all  this  with  patience,  especi- 
ally from  you — What's  this?"  he  exclaimed,  addressing  the 
footman,  who  rushed  into  the  room  in  a  state  of  con- 
siderable excitement. 

"Why,  Sir  Robert,  there  is  a  young  woman  below,  who 
is  crying  and  lamenting,  and  saying  she  must  see  Mr. 
Folliard." 

"  Damnation,  sir,"  exclaimed  Sir  Robert,  "  what  is  this ! 
why  am  I  interrupted  in  such  a  manner  ?  1 1  cannot  have  a 
gentleman  ten  minutes  in  my  study,  engaged  upon  private 
and  important  business,  but  in  bolts  some  of  you,  to 
interrupt  and  disturb  us.  What  does  the  girl  want  with 
me?"  • 

"  It  is  not  you  she  wants,  sir,"  replied  the  footman,  "  but 
his  honour,  Mr.  Folliard."  • 

"  Well,  tell  her  to  wait  until  he  is  disengaged." 

"  No,"  replied  Mr.  Folliard,  "  send  her  up  at  once ;  what 
the  devil  can  this  be  ?  but  you  shall  witness  it." 


252  WILLY   REILLY. 

The  baronet  smiled  knowingly — "Well,"  said  he,  "Mr. 
Folliard,  upon  my  honour  I  thought  you  had  sown  your 
wild  oats  many  a  year  ago  ;  and,  by  the  way,  according  to 
all  accounts — hem — but  no  matter ;  this,  to  be  sure,  will 
be  rather  a  late  crop." 

"  No,  sir,  I  sowed  my  wild  oats  in  the  right  season,  when 
I  was  hot,  young,  and  impetuous ;  but  long  before  your 
age,  sir,  that  field  had  been  allowed  to  lie  barren." 

He  had  scarcely  concluded,  when  Miss  Herbert,  acting 
upon  a  plan  of  her  own,  which,  were  not  the  baronet  a 
man  of  the  most  imperturbable  coolness,  might  have  stag- 
gered, if  not  altogether  confounded  him,  entered  the  room. 

"Oh,  sir!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  flood  of  tears,  kneeling 
before  Mr.  Folliard,  "  can  you  forgive  and  pardon  me  ?" 

"  It  is  not  against  you,  foolish  girl,  that  my  resentment 
is  or  shall  be  directed,  but  against  the  man  who  employed 
you — and  there  he  sits." 

"  Oh,  sir !"  she  exclaimed,  again  turning  to  that  worthy 
gentleman,  who  seemed  filled  with  astonishment. 

"  In  God's  name  !"  said  he,  interrupting  his  accomplice, 
"  what  can  this  mean  1     Who  are  you,  my  good  girl  V 

"My  name's  Catherine  Wilson,  sir." 

"  Catherine  Wilson !"  exclaimed  the  Squire — "  why,  con- 
found your  brazen  face,  are  you  not  the  person  who  styled 
yourself  Miss  Herbert,  and  who  lived,  thank  God,  but  for 
a  short  time  only  in  my  family?" 

"  I  lived  in  your  family,  sir,  but  I  am  not  the  Miss 
Herbert  that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  recommended  to  you." 

"  I  certainly  know  nothing  about  you,  my  good  girl," 
replied  Sir  Robert,  "nor  do  I  recollect  having  ever  seen 
you  before  ;  but  proceed  with  what  you  have  to  say,  and 
let  us  hear  it  at  once." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  but  perhaps  you  are  not  the  gentleman  as 
is  known  to  be  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft — him  as  hunts  the 
priests.  Oh,  la,  I'll  surely  be  sent  to  gaol.  Gentleman,  if 
you  promise  not  to  send  me  to  gaol,  I'll  tell  you  every- 
thing." 

"Well,  then,  proceed,"  said  the  Squire,  "I  will  not  send 
you  to  gaol,  provided  you  tell  the  truth." 

"  Nor  I,  my  good  girl,"  added  Sir  Robert,  "  but  upon 
the  same  conditions." 


WILLY  REILLY.  253 

"  Well,  then,  gentlemen,  I  was  acquainted  with  Miss 
Herbert — she  is  Hirish,  but  I'm  English.  This  gentleman 
gave  her  a  letter  to  you,  Mr.  Folliard,  to  get  her  as  maid  to 
Miss  Helen — she  told  me — oh,  my  goodness,  I  shall  surely 
be  sent  to  gaol." 

"  Go  on,  girl,"  said  the  baronet,  somewhat  sternly,  by 
which  tone  of  voice  he  intimated  to  her  that  she  was- 
pursuing  the  right  course,  and  she  was  quick  enough  to 
understand  as  much. 

"Well,"  she  proceeded,  "  after  Miss  Herbert  had  got  the 
letter,  she  told  her  sweetheart,  who  wouldn't  by  no  means 
allow  her  to  take  service,  because  as  wy,  he  wanted  to 
marry  her ;  well,  she  consented,  and  they  did  get  married,, 
and  both  of  them  left  the  country,  because  her  father 
wasn't  consenting.  As  the  letter  was  of  no  use  to  her  then, 
I  asked  her  for  it,  and  offered  myself  in  her  name  to  youy 
sir,  and  that  was  the  way  I  came  into  your  family  for  a 
short  time." 

The  baronet  rose  up,  in  well-feigned  agitation,  and 
exclaimed — "  Unfortunate  girl !  whoever  you  may  be,  you 
know  not  the  serious  mischief  and  unhappiness  that  your 
imposture  was  nearly  entailing  upon  me." 

"  But  did  you  not  say  that  you  bore  an  illegitimate  child 
to  this  gentleman  V  asked  the  Squire. 

"  Oh,  la !  no,  sir  ;  you  know  I  denied  that :  I  never  bore 
an  illegitimate  child ;  I  bore  a  love  child,  but  not  to  him  ; 
and  there  is  no  harm  in  that,  sure." 

"  Well,  she  certainly  has  exculpated  you,  Sir  Robert." 

"  Gentlemen,  will  you  excuse  and  pardon  me  1  and  will 
you  promise  not  to  send  me  to  gaol  *" 

"  Go  about  your  business,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "  you  unfor- 
tunate girl,  and  be  guilty  of  no  such  impostures  in  future.. 
Your  conduct  has  nearly  been  the  means  of  putting  enmity 
between  two  families  of  rank ;  or  rather  of  alienating  one 
of  them  from  the  confidence  and  good  will  of  the  other.. 
Go." 

She  then  curtsied  to  each,  shedding,  at  the  same  time, 
what  seemed  to  be  bitter  tears  of  remorse — and  took  her 
departure ;  each  of  them  looking  after  her,  and  then  at  the 
other,  with  surprise  and  wonder. 

"Now,  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  Sir  Robert,  solemnly,  "I  have 


254  WILLY  REILLY. 

one  question  to  ask  you,  and  it  is  this — Could  I  possibly, 
or  by  any  earthly  natural  means,  have  been  apprised  of  the 
honour  of  your  visit  to  me  this  day1?  I  ask  you  in  a 
serious — yes,  and  in  a  solemn  spirit ;  because  the  happiness 
of  my  future  life  depends  on  your  reply." 

"  Why,  no,"  replied  the  credulous  Squire,  "  hang  it,  no, 
man — no,  Sir  Robert;  I'll  do  you  that  justice;  I  never 
mentioned  my  intention  of  coming  to  call  you  out,  to  any 
individual  but  one,  and  that  on  my  way  hither;  he  was 
unwell,  too,  after  a  hard  night's  drinking;  but  he  said  he 
would  shake  himself  up,  and  be  ready  to  attend  me  as  soon 
as  the  place  of  meeting  should  be  settled  on.  In  point  of 
fact,  I  did  not  intend  to  see  you  to-day,  but  to  send  him 
with  the  message ;  but,  as  I  said,  he  was  knocked  up  for  a 
time,  and  you  know  my  natural  impatience.  No,  certainly 
not,  it  was  in  every  sense  impossible  that  you  could  have 
expected  me :  yes,  if  the  devil  was  in  it,  I  will  do  you  that 
justice." 

"  Well,  I  have  another  question  to  ask,  my  dear  friend, 
equally  important  with,  if  not  more  so  than,  the  other. 
Do  you  hold  me  free  from  all  blame  in  what  has  happened 
through  the  imposture  of  that  wretched  girl  V7 

"Why,  after  what  has  occurred  just  now,  I  certainly 
must,  Sir  Robert.  As  you  had  no  anticipation  of  my  visit, 
you  certainly  could  not,  nor  had  you  time  to  get  up  a 
scene." 

"  Well,  now,  Mr.  Folliard,  you  have  taken  a  load  off  my 
heart ;  and  I  will  candidly  confess  to  you  that  I  have  had 
my  frailties  like  other  men,  sown  my  wild  oats  like  other 
men;  but,  unlike  those  who  are  not  ashamed  to  boast  of 
such  exploits,  I  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  trumpet  my 
own  feelings.  I  do  not  say,  my  dear  friend,  that  I  have 
always  been  a  saint." 

"  Why,  now,  that's  manly  and  candid,  Sir  Robert,  and  I 
like  you  the  better  for  it.  Yes,  I  do  exonerate  you  from 
blame  in  this.  There  certainly  was  sincerity  in  that 
wench's  tears,  and  be  hanged  to  her ;  for,  as  you  properly 
said,  she  was  devilish  near  putting  between  our  families 
and  knocking  up  our  intimacy.  It  is  a  delightful  thing  to 
think  that  I  shall  be  able  to  disabuse  poor  Helen's  mind 
upon  the  subject ;  for,  I  give  you  my  honour,  it  caused  her 


WILLY  REILLY.  255 

the  greatest  distress,  and  excited  her  mind  to  a  high  pitch 
of  indignation  against  you ;  but  I  shall  set  all  to  rights." 

"And  now  that  the  matter  is  settled,  Mr.  Folliard,  we 
must  have  lunch.  I  will  give  you  a  glass  of  Burgundy, 
which,  I  am  sure,  you  will  like." 

"With  all  my  heart,"  replied  the  placable  and  hearty 
old  Squire ;  "  after  the  agitation  of  the  day  a  good  glass  of 
Burgundy  will  serve  me  certainly." 

Lunch  was  accordingly  ordered,  and  the  Squire,  after 
taking  half-a-dozen  bumpers  of  excellent  wine,  got  into 
fine  spirits,  shook  hands  as  cordially  as  ever  with  the 
baronet,  and  drove  home  completely  relieved  from  the 
suspicions  which  he  had  entertained. 

The  Squire,  on  his  return  home,  immediately  called  for 
his  daughter,  but  for  some  time  to  no  purpose.  The  old 
man  began  to  get  alarmed,  and  had  not  only  Helen's  room 
searched,  but  every  room  in  the  house.  At  length,  a 
servant  informed  him  that  she  was  tending  and  arranging 
the  greenhouse  flowers,  in  the  garden. 

"  Oh,  ay !"  said  he,  after  he  had  dismissed  the  servants, 
"  Thank  God — thank  God !  I  will  go  out  to  the  dear  girl ; 
for  she  is  a  dear  girl,  and  it  is  a  sin  to  suspect  her.  I  wish 
to  heaven  that  that  scoundrel  Reilly  would  turn  Protestant, 
and  he  should  have  her  with  all  the  veins  of  my  heart. 
Upon  my  soul,  putting  religion  out  of  the  question,  one 
would  think  that,  in  other  respects,  they  were  made  for 
each  other.  But  it's  all  this  cursed  pride  of  his  that 
prevents  him;  as  if  it  signified  what  any  person's  religion 
is,  provided  he's  an  honest  man,  and  a  loyal  subject." 

He  thus  proceeded  with  his  soliloquy  until  he  reached 
the  garden,  where  he  found  Reilly  and  her  arranging  the 
plants  and  flowers  in  a  superb  greenhouse. 

"  Well,  Helen,  my  love,  how  is  the  greenhouse  doing  1 
Eh  !  why,  what  is  this  ¥■ 

At  this  exclamation  the  lovers  started,  but  the  old 
fellow  was  admiring  the  improvement,  which  even  he 
couldn't  but  notice. 

"  Why,  what  is  this  V  he  proceeded ;  "  by  the  light  of 
day,  Helen,  you  have  made  this  a  little  paradise  of  flowers." 

"  It  was  not  I,  papa,"  she  replied ;  "  all  that  I  have  been 
able  to  contribute  to  the  order  and  beauty  of  the  place  has 


256  WILLY   REILLY. 

been  very  slight  indeed.     It  is  all  the  result  of  this  poor 
man's  taste  and  skill.     He's  an  admirable  botanist." 

"By  the  great  Boyne,  my  girl,  I  think  he  could  lick 
Malcomson  himself,  as  a  botanist." 

"  Shir,"  observed  Reilly,  "  the  young  lady  is  under  waluin' 
herself;  sure,  Miss,  it  was  yourself  directed  me  what  to  do, 
and  how  to  do  it." 

"  Look  at  that  old  chap,  Helen,"  said  her  father,  who 
felt  in  great  good  humour ;  rirst,  because  he  found  that  Helen 
was  safe ;  and  again,  because  Sir  Robert,  as  the  unsuspect- 
ing old  man  thought,  had  cleared  up  the  circumstances  of 
Miss  Herbert's  imposture;  "I  say,  Helen,  look  at  that 
old  chap :  isn't  he  a  nice  bit  of  goods  to  run  away  with  a 
pretty  girl  %  and  what  a  beautiful  taste  she  must  have  had 
to  go  with  him !  upon  my  soul,  it  beats  cockfighting — con- 
found me,  but  it  does." 

Helen's  face  became  crimson,  as  he  spoke ;  and  yet,  such 
was  the  ludicrous  appearance  which  Reilly  made,  when  put 
in  connexion  with  the  false  scent  on  which  her  father  was 
proceeding  at  such  a  rate,  and  the  act  of  gallantry  imputed 
to  him,  that  a  strong  feeling  of  humour  overcame  her,  and 
she  burst  into  a  loud  ringing  laugh,  which  she  could  not, 
for  some  time,  restrain ;  in  this  she  was  heartily  joined  by 
her  father,  who  laughed  till  the  tears  came  down  his 
cheeks. 

"  And  yet,  Helen — ha — ha — ha,  he's  a  stalwart  old  rogue 
still,  and  must  have  been  a  devil  of  a  tyke  when  he  was 
young." 

After  another  fit  of  laughter  from  both  father  and  daugh- 
ter, the  Squire  said : 

"  Now,  Helen,  my  love,  go  in— I  have  good  news  for 
you,  which  I  will  acquaint  you  with  by  and  by." 

When  she  left  the  garden,  her  father  addressed  Reilly  as 
follows : 

"Now,  my  good  fellow,  will  you  tell  me  how  you  came 
to  know  about  Miss  Herbert  having  being  seduced  by  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft?" 

"  Fwhy,  shir,  from  common  report,  shir." 

"  Is  that  all  %  But  don't  you  think,"  he  replied,  "  that 
common  report  is  a  common  liar,  as  it  mostly  has  been, 
and  is,  in  this  case.    That's  all  I  have  to  say  upon  the  subject. 


WILLY  REILLY.  257 

I  have  traced  the  affair,  and  find  it  to  be  a  falsehood 
from  beginning  to  ending.  I  have.  And  now,  go  on  as 
you're  doing,  and  I  will  make  Malcomson*  raise  your 
wages." 

"Thank  you,  shir,"  and  he  touched  his  nondescript  with 
an  air  of  great  thankfulness  and  humility. 

"Helen,  my  darling,"  said  her  father,  on  entering  her 
own  sitting-room,  "  I  said  I  had  good  news  for  you." 

Helen  looked  at  him  with  a  doubtful  lace,  and  simply 
said,  "  I  hope  it  is  good,  papa." 

"Why,  my  child,  I  won't  enter  into  particulars;  it  is 
enough  to  say  that  I  discovered  from  an  accidental  meeting 
with  that  wretched  girl  we  had  here,  that  she  was  not  Miss 
Herbert,  as  she  called  herself,  at  a!!;  but  another,  named 
Catherine  Wilson,  who,  having  got  from  Herbert  the  letter 
of  recommendation  which  I  read  to  you,  had  the  effrontery 
to  pass  herself  for  her;  but  the  other  report  was  false. 
The  girl,  Wilson,  apprehensive  that  either  I  or  Sir  Robert 
might  send  her  to  gaol,  having  seen  my  carriage  stop  at 
Sir  Robert's  house,  came,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  to  beg 
that  if  we  would  not  punish  her  she  would  tell  us  the 
truth,  and  she  did  so." 

Helen  mused  for  some  time,  and  seemed  to  decide 
instantly  upon  the  course  of  action  she  should  pursue,  or, 
rather,  the  course  which  she  had  previously  proposed  to 
herself.  She  saw  clearly,  and  had  long  known,  that  in  the 
tactics  and  stratagems  of  life,  her  blunt  but  honest  father 
was  no  match  at  all  for  the  deep  hypocrisy  and  deceitful 
plausibility  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft.  The  consequence 
was,  that  she  allowed  her  father  to  take  his  own  way, 
without  either  remonstrance  or  contradiction.  She  knew 
very  well  that  on  this  occasion,  as  on  every  other  where 
their  wits  and  wishes  came  in  opposition,  Sir  Robert  was 
always  able  to  out-general  and  overreach  him  ;  she  there- 
fore resolved  to  adtate  herself  as  little  as  possible,  and  to 
allow  matters  to  flow  on  tranquilly,  until  the  crisis— the 
moment  for  action — came. 

"Papa,"  she  replied,  "this  intelligence  must  make  your 
mind  very  easy;  I  hope,  however,  you  will  restore  poor 
faithful  Connor  to  me.  I  never  had  such  an  affectionate 
and  kind   creature;  and,  besides,  not  one  of  them  could 

R 


258  WILLY   PwEILLY. 

dress  me  with  such  skill  and  taste  as  she  could.     Will  you 
allow  me  to  have  her  back,  sir  V 

"  I  will,  Helen ;  but  take  care  she  doesn't  make  a  Papist 
of  you." 

"Iudeed,  papa,  that  is  a  strange  whim:  why,  the  poor 
girl  never  opened  her  lips  to  me  on  the  subject  of  religion 
during  her  life ;  nor,  if  I  saw  that  she  attempted  it,  would 
I  permit  her.  I  am  no  theologian,  papa,  and  detest 
polemic^,  because  I  have  always  heard  that  those  who  are 
most  addicted  to  polemical  controversy  .have  least  religion." 

"  Well,  my  love,  you  shall  have  back  poor  Connor ;  and 
now  I  must  go  and  look  over  some  papers  in  my  study. 
Good-by,  my  love ;  and  observe,  Helen,  don't  stay  out  too 
late  in  the  garden,  lest  the  chill  of  the  air  might  injure 
your  health." . 

"  But  you  know  I  never  do,  and  never  did,  papa." 

"Well,  good-by  again,  my  love." 

He  then  left  her,  and  withdrew  to  his  study,  to  sign 
some  papers,  and  transact  some  business,  which  he  had 
allowed  to  run  into  arrear.  When  he  had  been  there  better 
than  an  hour  he  rang  the  bell,  and  desired  that  Malcomson, 
the  gardener,  should  be  sent  to  him,  and  that  self-sufficient 
and  pedantic  person  made  his  appearance  accordingly. 

"Well,  Malcomson,"  said  he,  "how  do  you  like  the 
bearded  fellow  in  the  garden  T 

"Ou,  yer  honour,  weel  eneugh;  he  does  ken  something 
o'  the  sceence  o'  buttany,  an'  'am  thinkin'  he  must  hae  been 
a  gude  spell  in  Scotland,  for  I  cauna  guess  whare  else  he 
could  hae  become  acquent  wi'  it." 

"  I  see,  Malcomson,  you'll  still  persist  iu  your  confounded 
pedantry  about  your  science.  Now,  what  the  devil  has 
science  to  do  with  botany  or  gardening]" 

"  Weel,  your  honour,  it  wadna  just  become  me  to  dis- 
pute wi'  ye,  upon  that  or  any  ither  subjeck ;  but  for  a'  that, 
it  required  profoond  sceence,  and  vera  extensive  learniu' 
to  classify  an'  arrange  a'  the  plants  o'  the  yearth,  an'  to  gie 
them  names,  by  whilk  they  can  be  known  throughout  a' 
the  nations  o'  the  warld." 

"  Well,  well — I  suppose  I  must  let  you  have  your  way." 

"Why,  your  honour,"  replied  Malcomson,  "am  sure  it 
mair  becomes  me  to  let  you  hae  yours ;  but  regerding  this 


WILLY  REILLY.  253 

ould  carl,  I  winna  say  but  he  has  been  weel  indoctrinated 
in  the  sceence." 

"Ahem  !  well,  well,  go  on." 

"An'  it's  no  easy  to  guess  whare  he  could  hae  gotten  it. 
Indeed,  'am  of  opinion  that  he's  no  without  a  hantle  o'  book 
fair ;  for,  to  do  him  justice,  de'il  a  question  I  spier  at  him, 
anent  the  learned  names  o'  the  rare  plants,  that  he  hasna 
at  his  finger  ends,  and  gies  to  me  offhand.  Naebody  but  a 
man  that  lias  gotten  book  lair  could  do  yon." 

"  Book  lair;  what  is  that1? 

"Ou,  just  a  correck  knowledge  o'  the  learned  names  of 
the  plants.  I  dinna  say,  and  I  winna  say,  but  he's  a  vel- 
liable  assistant  to  me,  an'  I  should na  wish  to  pairt  wi'  him. 
If  he'd  only  shave  off  yon  beard,  an'  let  himsel'  be 
decently  happed  in  good  claiths,  why  he  might  pass  in  ony 
gentleman's  gerden  for  a  skeelfui  buttanist." 

"  Is  he  as  good  a  kitchen  gardener  as  he  is  in  the  green- 
house, and  among  the  flowers'?''' 

"Weel,  your  honour,  guid  troth,  'am  sairly  puzzled 
there ;  hoot,  no,  sir ;  de'il  a  thing  almost  he  kens  about  the 
kitchen  gerden — a'  his  strength  lies  among  the  flowers  and 
in  the  greenhouse." 

"Well,  well,  that's  where  we  principally  want  him.  I 
sent  for  you,  Malcomson,  to<fclesire  you'd  raise  his  wages — 
the  labourer  is  worthy  of  his  hire ;  and  a  good  labourer  of 
good  hire.     Let  him  have  four  shillings  a  week  additional." 

"Troth,  your  honour,  'am  no  sayin'  but  he  weel  deserves 
it;  but,  Lord  haud  a  care  o'  us,  he's  a  queer  one,  yon." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  T 

"  Why,  de'il  heat  he  seems  to  care  about  siller,  any  mair 
than  if  it  was  sklate  stains.  On  Saturday  last,  when  he 
was  paid  his  weekly  wages  by  the  steward,  he  met  a  puir 
sickly-looking  auld  wife,  wi'  a  string  o'  sickly-looking  weans 
at  the  body's  heels ;  she  dinna  ask  him  for  charity,  for,  in 
troth,  he  appeared,  binna  it  wearna  for  the  weans,  as  great 
an  objeck  as  hersei' ;  noo,  what  wad  yer  honour  think  1  he 
gaes  ower,  and  gies  till  her  a  hale  crown  o'  siller  out  o'  his 
ain  wages.     Was  ever  ony  thing  heard  like  yon  V 

"Well,  but  I  know  the  cause  of  it,  Malcomson.  He's 
under  a  penance,  and  can  neither  shave  nor  change  his 
dress  till  his  silly  penance  is  out;  and  I  suppose  it  was  to 


260  WILLY  REILLY. 

wash  off  a  part  of  it  that  he  gave  this  foolish  charity  to  the 
poor  woman  and  her  children.  Come,  although  I  condemn 
the  folly  of  it,  I  don't  like  him  the  worse  for  it." 

"  Hout  awa,  your  honour,  what  is  it  but  rank  Papistry, 
and  a  dependence  upon  filthy  works.  The  doited  auld  carl, 
to  throw  aff  his  siller  that  gate;  but  that's  Papistry  a' 
ower — substituting  works  for  grace  and  faith — a'  Papistry, 
a'  Papistry  !  Well,  your  honour,  I  sal  be  conform  to  your 
wushes — it's  my  duty,  that." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

AWFUL  CONDUCT   OF  SQUIRE  FOLLTARD —FERGUS   REILLY 
BEGINS   TO    CONTRAVENE   THE   RED   RAPPAREE. 

FTER  Malcomson  quitted  him,  the  Squire,  with  his 
golden  headed  cane,  went  to  saunter  about  through 
his  beautiful  grounds  and  his  noble  demesne,  proud, 
certainly,  of  his  property,  nor  insensible  to  the  beautiful 
scenery  which  it  presented  from  so  many  points  of  obser- 
vation. He  had  not  been  lon£  here,  when  a  poor-looking 
peasant,  dressed  in  shabby  frieze,  approached  him  at  as 
fast  a  pace  as  he  could  accomplish ;  and  the  Squire,  after 
looking  at  him,  exclaimed  in  an  angry  tone : 

"Well,  you  rascal,  what  the  devil  brings  you  herel" 

The  man  stood  for  a  little,  and  seemed  so  much  ex- 
hausted and  out  of  breath,  that  he  could  not  speak. 

"I  say,  you  unfortunate  old  vagrant,"  repeated  the 
Squire,  "  what  brought  you  here?" 

"  It  is  a  case  of  either  life  or  death,  sir,"  replied  the  poor 
peasant. 

"Why,"  said  the  Squire,  "what  crime  did  you  commit? 
Or  perhaps  you  broke  prison,  and  are  flying  from  the 
officers  of  justice  ;  eh  !  is  that  it?  And  you  come  to  ask  a 
magistrate  to  protect  you !" 

"I  am  flying  from  the  agents  of  persecution,  sir,  and 
know  not  where  to  hide  my  head  in  order  to  avoid  them." 

The  hard-pressed,  but  amiable  priest — for  such  he  was— 


WILLY  REILLY.  2G1 

adopted  this  language  of  truth,  because  he  knew  the 
Squire's  character,  and  felt  that  it  would  serve  him  more 
effectually  than  if  he  had  attempted  to  conceal  his  pro- 
fession, "lama  Catholic  priest,  sir,  and  felt  from  bitter 
experience,  that  this  disguise  was  necessary  to  the  preser- 
vation of  my  life.  I  throw  myself  upon  your  honour  and 
generosity,  for  although  hasty,  sir,  you  are  reported  to  have 
a  good  and  kind  heart."* 

"  You  are  disposed  to  place  confidence  in  me,  then  V 
"  I  am,  sir — my  being  before  you  now,  and  putting  my- 
self in  your  power,  is  a  proof  of  it." 

"  Who   are  pursuing  you  %     Sir   Robert  Whitecraft— 

€hi" 

"  No,  sir,  Captain  Smellpriest  and  his  gang." 

"  Ay,  out  of  the  frying  pan  into  the  fire  ;  although  I 
don't  know  that,  either.  They  say  Smellpriest  can  do  a 
generous  thing  sometimes — but  the  other,  when  priest- 
hunting,  never.     What's  your  name  7' 

"I'll  tell  you,  without  hesitation,  sit— Maguire  ;  I'm  of 
the  Maguires  of  Fermanagh." 

"  Ay  !  ay  !  why  then  you  have  good  blood  in  your  vein?. 

But  what  offence  were  you  guilty  of  that  you but  I 

need  not  ask;  it  is  enough,  in  the  present  state  of  the 
laws,  that  you  are  a  Catholic  priest.  In  the  meantime,  are 
you  aware  that  I  myself  transported  a  Catholic  priest,  and 
that  he  would  have  swung,  only  for  my  daughter,  who  went 
to  the  Viceroy,  and,  with  much  difficulty,  got  his  sentence 
commuted  to  transportation  for  life  ;  I  myself  had  already 
tried  it,  and  failed ;  but  she  succeeded,  God  bless 
her!" 

"  Yes,  God  bless  her !"  replied  the  priest,  "  she  suc- 
ceeded, and  her  fame  has  gone  far  and  near,  in  conse- 
quence ;  yes,  may  God  of  His  mercy  bless  and  guard  her 
from  all  evil !"  and  as  the  poor  hunted  priest  spoke,  the 
tears  came  to  his  eyes.  This  symptom  of  respect  and 
affection,  prompted  by  the  generous  and  heroic  conduct  of 
the  far-famed  Cooleen  Bawn,  touched  her  father,  and  saved 
the  priest. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  after  musing  for  a  while,  "  so  you  say 
Smellpriest  is  after  you  2" 

"He  is,  sir;  they  saw  me   at   a  distance,   across   the 


262  WILLY  REILLY. 

country,  scrambling  over  the  park  wall,  and  indeed  I  was 
near  falling  into  their  hands,  by  the  difficulty  I  had  in 
getting  over  it."   i 

"  Well,  come,"  replied  the  Squire,  "since  you  have  had 
the  courage  to  plate  confidence  in  me,  I  won't  abuse  it; 
come  along,  I  will  both  conceal  and  protect  you.  I 
presume  there  is  little  time  to  be  lost,  for  those  priest 
hounds  will  be  apt  to  ride  round  to  the  entrance-gate, 
which  I  will  desire  the  porter  to  close,  and  lock,  and  then 
leave  the  lodge." 

On  their  way  home  he  did  so,  and  ordered  the  porter  up 
to  the  house.  The  magnificent  avenue  was  a  serpentine 
one,  and  our  friends  had  barely  time  to  get  out  of  sight  of 
the  lodge,  by  a  turn  in  it,  when  they  heard  the  voices  of 
the  pursuers,  hallooing  for  the  porter,  and  thundering  at 
the  gate. 

"  Ay,  thunder  away,  only  don't  injure  my  gate,  Smell- 
priest,  or  I'll  make  you  replace  it ;  bawl  yourselves  hoarse 
— you  are  on  the  wrong  side  for  once  !" 

When  they  were  approaching  the  hall  door,  which 
generally  lay  open — 

"Confound  me,"  said  the  squire,  "if  I  know  what  to  do 
with  you  ;  I  trust  in  God,  I  won't  get  into  odium  by  this. 
At  all  events,  let  us  steal  up  stairs  as  quietly  as  we  can, 
and,  if  possible,  without;  any  one  seeing  us." 

To  the  necessity  of  this  the  priest  assented,  and  they 
had  reached  the  first  landing  of  the  stair-cage  when  out 
popped  right  in  their  teeth  two  housemaids  each  with 
brush  in  hand.  Now  it  instantly  occurred  to  the  Squire, 
that  in  this  unlucky  crisis  bribery  was  the  safest  resource. 
He  accordingly  ad  Iressed  them  : 

"  Come  here,  you  jades,  don't  say  a  word  about  this 
man's  presence  here — don't  breathe  it;  here's  five  shillings 
apiece  for  you.  and  let  one  of  you  go  and  bring  me  up, 
secretly,  the  key  of  the  green-room  in  the  garret;  it  has 
not  been  opened  for  some  time.  Be  quick  now  ;  or  stay, 
desire  Lanigan  to  fetch  it,  and  refreshment  also ;  there's 
cold  venison  and  roast  beef,  and  a  bottle  of  wine;  tell 
Lanigan  I'm  going  to  lunch,  and  to  lay  the  table  in  my 
study.  Lanigan  can  be  depended  on,"  he  added,  after  the 
chambermaids  had  gone,   "for   when  I  concealed  another 


WILLY  REILLY.  263 

priest  here  once,  he  was  entrusted  with  the  secret,  and  was 
faithful."     . 

Now  it  so  happened  that  one  of  those  maids,  who  was  a 
very  bitter  Protestant,  at  once  recognised  Father  Maguire, 
nothwithstanding  his  disguise.  She  had  been  a  servant  for 
four  or  five  years  in  the  house  of  a  wealthy  farmer  who 
lived  adjoining  him,  and  with  whom  he  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  frequently  dining  when  no  danger  was  to  be 
apprehended  from  the  operation  of  the  laws.  Indeed,  she 
and  Malcomson,  the  gardener,  were  the  only  two  individuals 
in  the  Squire's  establishment  who  were  not  Catholics. 
Malcomson  was  a  manoeuvrer,  and  as  is  pretty  usual  with 
individuals  of  his  class  and  country,  he  looked  upon 
"Papistry"  as  an  abomination  that  ought  to  be  removed 
from  the  land.  Still,  he  was  cautious  and  shrewd,  and 
seldom  or  never  permitted  those  opinions  to  interfere  with 
or  obstruct  his  own  interests.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the  secret 
was  not  long  kept.  Esther  Wilson  impeached  her  master's 
loyalty,  and  she  herself  was  indignantly  assailed  for  her 
treachery  by  Molly  Finigan,  who  hoped  in  her  soul  that 
her  master  and  young  mistress  would  both  die  in  the  true 
Church  yet. 

The  whole  kitchen  was  in  a  buzz;  in  fact,  a  regular 
scene  ensued.  Every  one  spoke,  except  Lanigan,  who, 
from  former  experience,  understood  the  case  perfectly; 
but,  as  for  Malcomson.  whose  zeal  on  this  occasion  certainly 
got  the  better  of  his  discretion,  he  seemed  thunder- 
struck. 

"  Eh,  sirs !  did  ony  one  ever  hear  the  like  o'  this  I — to 
hide  a  rebel  priest  frae  the  offended  laws !  But  it  canna 
be  that  this  puir  man  is  athegether  right  in  his  head. 
Lord  ha'e  a  care  o'  us  !  the  man  surely  must  be  demented, 
or  he  wouldna  venture  to  bring  such  a  person  into  his  ain 
house — into  the  vara  house.  I  think,  Maister  Lanigan, 
it  wad  be  just  a  precious  bit  o'  service  to  religion  and  our 
laws  to  gang  and  tell  the  next  magistrate.  Gude  guide  us ! 
what  an  example  he  is  settin'  to  his  loyal  neighbours,  and 
his  hail  connexions !  That  ever  we  suld  see  the  like  o' 
this  waeful'  backsliding  at  his  years !  Lord  ha'e  a  care  o' 
us,  I  say  since  mair." 

"  Oh,  but  there's  more  to  come,"  said  one  of  them,  for, 


2G4  WILLY   REILLY. 

in  the  turmoil  produced  by  this  shocking  intelligence,  they 
had  forgotten  to  deliver  the  message  to  Lanigan. 

"Mr.  Lanigan,"  said  Esther,  and  her  breath  was  checked 
by  a  hysteric  hiccup,  "  Mr.  Lanigan,  you  are  to  bring  up 
the  key  of  the  green-room,  and  plenty  of  venison,  roast 
beef,  and  a  battle  of  wine  !     There  !" 

"Saul,  Maister  Lanigan,  I  winna  stay  langer  under 
this  roof;  it's  nae  caunie;  I'll  e'en  gang  out,  and  ha'e  som« 
nonsense  cUvers  wi'  yon  queer  auld  carl  i'  the  gerdert. 
The  Lord  ha'e  a  care  o'  us  ! — what  will  the  warld  come  to 
next?" 

He  accordingly  repaired  to  the  garden,  where  the  first 
thing  he  did  was  to  give  a  fearful  account  to  Redly  of  their 
master's  political  profligacy.  The  latter  felt  surprised,  but 
not  all  at  Malcumson's  narrative.  The  fact  was,  he  knew 
the  exact  circumstances  of  the  case,  because  he  knew  the 
Squire's  character,  which  was  sometimes  good,  and  some- 
times the  reverse — just  according  to  the  humour  he  might 
be  in ;  and  in  reply  observed  to  Malcomson,  that — 

"  As  his  honour  done  a  great  dale  o'  good  to  the  poor  o' 
the  couuthry,  I  think  it  wouldn't  be  daicent  in  us,  Misther 
Maicomson,  to  go  for  to  publish  this  generous  act  to  the 
poor  priesht ;  if  he  is  wrong,  let  us  lave  him  to  Gad,  shir." 

"Ou,  ay,  weel  I  dinna  but  you're  richt ;  the  mair,  that 
we  won't  hae  to  answer  for  his  transgressions  :  sae  e'en  let 
every  herring  hang  by  its  ain  tail." 

In  the  meantime,  Lanigan,  who  understood  the  affair 
well  enough,  addressed  the  audience  in  the  kitchen  to  the 
following  etfect : 

"Now,"  said  he,  "what  a  devil  of  a  hubbub  you  all 
make  abuut  nothing !  Pray,  young  lady,"  addressing  Esther 
Wilson,  who  alone  had  divulged  the  circumstance,  "did 
his  houour  desire  you  to  keep  what  you  seen  saicret  V* 

"  He  did,  cook,  he  did,"  replied  Esther ;  "  and  gave  us 
money  not  to  speak  about  it,  which  is  a  proof  of  his 
guilt." 

"And  the  first  thing  you  did  was  to  blaze  it  to  the  whole 
kitchen !  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is  now — if  he  ever  hears 
that  you  breathed  a  syllable  of  it  to  mortal  man,  you  won't 
be  under  his  roof  two  hours." 

"Oh,  but,  surely,  cock- " 


WILLY  REILLY.  2G5 

'•'  Oh,  but,  surely,  madam,"  replied  Langian,  "you  talk 
t>£  what  you  don't  understand ;  his  honour  knows  very  well 
what  he's  about,  and  has  authority  for  it." 

This  sobered  her  to  some  purpose :  and  Lanigan  pro- 
ceeded to  execute  his  master's  orders. 

It  is  true  Miss  Esther  and  Malcomson  were  now  silent, 
for  their  own  sakes ;  but  it  did  not  remove  their  indigna- 
tion ;  so  far  from  that,  Lanigan  himself  came  in  for  a  share 
of  it,  and  was  secretly  looked  upon  in  the  light  of  the 
Squire's  confidant  in  the  transaction. 

Whilst  matters  were  in  this  position,  the  Red  Rapparee 
began  gradually  to  lose  the  confidence  of  his  unscrupulous 
employer.  He  had  promised  that  worthy  gentleman  to  be- 
tray his  former  gang,  and  deliver  them  up  to  justice,  in  re- 
quital for  the  protection  which  he  received  from  him.  This 
he  would  certainly  have  done,  were  it  not  for  Fergus,  who, 
happening  to  meet  one  of  them  a  day  or  two  after  the  Rap- 
paree  had  taken  service  with  Whitecraft,  upon  the  aforesaid 
condition,  informed  the  robber  of  that  fact,  and  advised 
him,  if  he  wished  to  provide  for  his  own  safety  and  that  of 
his  companions,  to  desire  them  forthwith  to  leave  the 
country,  and,  if  possible,  the  kingdom.  They,  accordingly, 
took  the  hint ;  some  of  them  retired  to  distant  and  remote 
places,  and  others  went  beyond  seas,  for  their  security. 
The  promise,  therefore,  which  the  Rapparee  had  made  to 
the  baronet,  as  a  proof  of  gratitude  for  his  protection,  he 
now  found  himself  incapable  of  fulfilling,  in  consequence 
of  the  dispersion  and  disappearance  of  his  band.  Wnen  he 
stated  this  fact  to  Sir  Robert,  he  gained  little  credit  from 
him;  and  the  consequence  was,  that  his  patron  felt 
disposed  to  think  that  he  was  not  a  man  to  be  depended 
on.  Still,  what  he  had  advanced  in  his  own  defence  might 
be  true ;  and  although  his  confidence  in  him  was  shaken, 
he  resolved  to  maintain  him  yet  in  his  service,  and  that  for 
two  reasons — one  of  which  was,  that  by  having  him  under 
his  eye,  and  within  his  grasp,  he  could  pounce  upon  him 
at  any  moment ;  the  other  was,  that  as  he  knew,  from  the 
previous  shifts  and  necessities  of  his  own  lawless  life,  all 
those  dens,  and  recesses,  and  caverns  to  which  the  Catholic 
priesthood,  and  a  good  number  of  the  people,  were  obliged 
to  fly  and  conceal  themselves,  he  must  necessarily  be  a 


266  WILLY  EEILLY. 

useful  guide  to  him  as  a  priest-hunter.  It  is  true,  he 
assured  him  that  he  had  procured  his  pardon  from  Govern- 
ment, principally,  he  said,  in  consequence  of  his  own 
influence,  and  because,  in  all  his  robberies,  it  had  not  been 
known  that  he  ever  took  away  human  life.  In  general, 
however,  this  was  the  policy  of  the  Rapparees,  unless  when 
they  identified  themselves  with  political  contests  and  out- 
rages, and  on  those  occasions  they  were  savage  and  cruel  as 
fiends.  In  simple  robbery  on  the  king's  highway,  or  in 
burglaries  in  houses,  they  seldom,  almost  never,  committed 
murder,  unless  when  resisted,  and  in  defence  of  their  lives. 
On  the  contrary,  they  were  quite  gallant  to  females,  whom 
they  treated  with  a  kind  of  rude  courtesy,  not  uti frequently 
returning  the  lady  of  the  house  her  gold  watch — but  this 
only  on  occasions  when  they  had  secured  a  large  booty  of 
plate  and  money.  The  Threshers  of  1805,  '6  and  '7,  so  far 
as  crudty  goes,  were  a  thousand  times  worse;  for  they 
spared  neither  man  nor  woman  in  their  infamous  and 
nocturnal  visits ;  and  it  is  enough  to  say,  besides,  that  their 
cowardice  was  equal  to  their  cruelty.  It  has  been  proved, 
at  special  commissions  held  about  those  periods,  that  four 
or  five  men,  with  red  coats  on  them,  have  made  between  two 
or  three  hundred  of  the  miscreants  run  for  their  lives,  and 
they  tolerably  well  armed.  Whether  Sir  Robert's  account 
of  the  Rapparee's  pardon  was  true  or  false  will  appear  in 
due  time;  for  the  truth  isr  that  Whitecraft  was  one  of 
those  men  who,  in  consequence  of  his  staunch  loyalty  and 
burning  zeal  in  carrying  out  the  inhuman  measures  of  the 
then  Government,  was  permitted  with  impunity  to  run 
into  licentiousness  of  action,  as  a  useful  public  man,  which 
no  modern  Government  would,  or  dare,  permit.  At  the 
period  of  which  we  write,  there  was  no  press,  so  to  speak, 
in  Ireland,  and  consequently  no  opportunity  of  at  once 
bringing  the  acts  of  the  Irish  Government,  or  of  public 
men.  to  the  test  of  public  opinion.  Such  men,  therefore, 
as  Whitecraft,  looked  upon  themselves  as  invested  with 
irresponsible  power ;  and  almost  in  every  instance  their 
conduct  was  approved  of,  recognised,  and  in  general, 
rewarded  by  the  Government  of  the  day.  The  Bjrestord 
family  enjoyed  something  like  this  unenviable  privilege, 
duriug  the  rebellion  of  '98  and  for  some  time  afterwards. 


WILLY  HEILLY.  267 

We  have  alluded  to  Mrs.  Oxley,  the  sheriffs  fat  wife; 
whether  fortunately  or  unfortunately  for  the  poor  sheriff, 
who  had  some  generous  touches  of  character  about  him,  it 
so  happened  that  at  this  period  of  our  narrative  she 
popped  off  one  day,  in,  a  fit  of  apoplexy,  and  he  found 
himself  a  widower.  Now,  our  acquaintance,  Fergus  Reilly, 
who  was  as  deeply  disguised  as  our  hero,  had  made  his 
mind  up,  if  possible,  to  bring  the  Rapparee  into  trouble. 
Tnis  man  had  led  his  patron  to  several  places  where  it  was 
likely  that  the  persecuted  priests  might  be  found ;  and,  for 
this  reason,  Fergus  knew  that  he  was  serious  in  his  object 
to  betray  them.  This  unnatural  treachery  of  the  robber 
envenomed  his  heart  against  him,  and  he  resolved  to  run  a 
risk  in  watching  his  motions.  He  had  no  earthly  doubt 
that  it  was  he  who  robbed  the  sheriff.  He  knew,  from 
furtive  observations,  as  well  as  from  general  report,  that  a 
discreditable  intimacy  existed  between  him  and  Mary 
Mahon.  This  woman's  little  house  was  very  convenient  to 
that  of  Whitecraft,  to  whom  she  was  very  useful  in  a 
certain  capacity.  She  had  now  given  up  her  trade  of 
fortune-telling — a  trade  which,  at  that  period,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  ignorance  of  the  people,  was  very  general 
in  Ireland.  She  was  now  more  beneficially  employed. 
Fergus,  therefore,  confident  in  his  disguise,  resolved  upon 
a  bold  and  hazardous  stroke.  He  began  to  apprehend,  that 
if  ever  Tom  Steeple,  fool  though  he  was,  kept  too  much 
about  the  haunts  and  resorts  of  the  Rapparee,  that  cunning 
scoundrel,  who  was  an  adept  in  all  the  various  schemes  and 
forms  of  detection,  might  take  the  alarm,  and,  aided 
probably  by  Whitecraft,  make  his  escape  out  of  the 
country.  At  best,  the  fool  could  only  assure  him  of  his 
whereabouts ;  but  he  felt  it  necessary,  in  addition  to  this, 
to  procure,  if  the  matter  were  possible,  such  evidence  of  his 
guilt  as  might  render  his  conviction  of  the  robbery  of  the 
sheriff  complete  and  certain.  One  evening,  a  wretched- 
looking  old  man,  repeating  his  prayers,  with  beads  in  hand, 
entered  her  cottage,  which  consisted  of  two  rooms  and  a 
kitchen  j  and  after  having  presented  himself,  and  put  on 
his  hat- — for  we  need  scarcely  say  that  no  Catholic  ever 
prays  covered — he  asked  lodging,  in  Irish,  for  the  night, 
and  at  this  time  it  was  dusk. 


26*8  WILLY   REILLW 

"Well,  good  man,"  she  replied,  "you  can  have  lodgings 
here  for  this  night.  Gad  forbid  I'd  put  a  poor  wandherer 
out,  an'  it  nearly  dark." 

Fergus  stared  at  her  as  if  he  did  not  understand  what 
she  said  ;  she,  however,  could  speak  Irish  right  well,  and 
asked  him  in  that  language  if  he  could  speak  no  English 
— "  fVuil  Bearlha  arjud  ?"     (Have  you  Euglish  V) 

"  Ha  neil  foccal  vaun  Bearlha  agum."  ("  I  haven't  one 
word  of  English^') 

"  Well,"  said  she,  proceeding  with  the  following  short 
conversation  in  Irish,  "  You  can  sleep  here,  and  I  will  bring 
you  in  a  wap  o'  straw  from  the  garden,  where  I  have  it  to 
feed  my  cow,  which  his  honour  Sir  Robert  gives  me  grass 
for ;  he  would  be  a  very  kind  man  if  he  was  a  little  more 
generous — ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"Ay,  but  doesn't  he  hunt  an'  hang  an'  transport  our 
priests  1" 

"  Why,  indeed,  I  believe  he  doesn't  like  a  bone  in  a 
priest's  body ;  but  then  he's  of  a  different  religion — and  it 
isn't  for  you  or  me  to  construe  him  after  our  own  way." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Fergus,  "  it  isn't  him  I'm  thinkin'  of ; 
but  if  I  had  a  mouthful  or  two  of  something  to  ait  I'd  go 
to  sleep — for  dear  knows  I'm  tired  and  hungry." 

11  Why,  then,  of  coorse  you'll  have  something  to  ait,  poor 
man,  and  while  you're  eatin'  it  I'll  fetch  in  a  good  bottle  of 
straw,  and  make  a  comfortable  shake-down  for  you." 

"  God  mark  you  to  grace,  avourneen  !" 

She  then  furnished  him  with  plenty  of  oaten  bread  and 
mixed  milk,  and  while  he  was  helping  himself  she  brought 
in  a  large  bunch  of  straw,  which  she  shook  out  and  settled 
for  him. 

"I  see,"  said  she,  "  that  you  have  your  own  blankets." 

"I  have,  acushia.  Cneerna,  but  this  is  darlin'  bread! 
Arra  was  this  baked  upon  a  griddle  or  against  the  muddhia 
arran  ?"* 

*  The  muddhia  arran,  was  a  forked  branch,  cut  from  a  tree,  and 
shaped  exactly  like  the  letter  \ — with  a  small  stick  behind  to 
support  it.  A  piece  of  hoop  iron  was  nailed  to  it  at  the  bottom,  on 
which  the  cake  rested  —not  horizontally,  but  opposite  the  fire. 
When  one  side  was  done  the  other  was  turned,  and  thus  it  was 
baked. 


YfiLLY   REILLY.  269 

"A  griddle!  Why,  then,  is  it  the  likes  o'  me  would 
have  a  griddle  1  that  indeed  !  !No ;  but,  any  how,  sure  a 
griddle  only  scalds  the  bread ;  but  you'll  find  that  this  is 
not  too  much  done ;  bekaise  you  know  the  ould  proverb; 
'  a  raw  dad  makes  a  fat  lad.'  " 

" Troth,"  replied  Fergus,  "it's  good  bread,  and  fills  the 
boast*  of  a  man's  body  ;  but  now  that  I've  made  a  good 
supper,  I'll  throw  myself  on  the  straw,  for  I  feel  as  if  my 
eyelids  had  a  millstone  apiece  upon  them.  I  never  sthrip 
at  night,  but  just  throws  my  blankets  over  me,  an'  sleeps 
like  a  top.  Glory  be  to  God !  Oh,  then,  there's  nothing 
like  the  health,  ma'am :  may  God  spare  it  to  us !  Amiu,. 
this  night !" 

He  accordingly  threw  himself  on  the  shake-down,  and  in 
a  short  time,  as  was  evident  by  his  suoring,  fell  into  a 
profound  sleep. 

This  was  an  experiment,  though  a  hazardous  one  as  we 
have  said ;  but  so  far  it  was  successful.  In  the  course  of 
half-an-hour  the  Red  Rapparee  came  in  dressed  in  his  uni- 
form. On  looking  about  him,  he  exclaimed,  with  an  oath  : 
"Who  the  hell  is  heref 

"Why,"  replied  Mary  Mahon,  "a  poor  ould  man  that 
axed  for  charity  an'  a  lodgin'  for  the  night." 

"  And  why  did  you  give  it  to  him  ?" 

"  Bekaise  my  charity  to  him  may  take  away  some  of  my 
sins." 

"  Some  of  your  devils  !"  replied  the  savage,  "and  I  think 
you  have  enough  of  them  about  you.  Didn't  you  know  I 
was  to  come  here  to-night,  as  I  do  almost  every  night,  for 
an  hour  or  two  ?" 

"  You  was  drinkin',"  she  replied,  "  and  you're  drunk." 

"  I  am  drunk,  and  I  will  be  drunk  as  often  as  I  can* 
It's  a  good  man's  case.  Why  did  you  give  a  lodgin'  to  this 
ould  vagabone  V 

"  I  tould  you  the  raison,"  she  replied;  "  but.  you  needn't 


*  Boast — a  figurative  term,  taken  from  a  braggadocio  or  boaster  ; 
it  applies  to  anything  that  is  hollow  or  deceitful :  for  instance,  when 
.some  potatoes  that  grow  unusually  large  are  cut  in  two,  an  empty 
space  is  found  in  the  centre,  and  that  potato  is  termed  boast,  or 
empty. 


270  WILLY  REILLY. 

care  about  him,  for  there's  not  a  word  of  Ejglish  in  his 
cheek." 

"  Faith,  but  he  may  have  something  in  his  purse,  for  all 
that.     Is  he  ould  V 

"  A  poor  ould  man." 

"  So  much  the  betther ;  be  the  livin'  I'll  try  whether  he 
has  any  ould  coins  about  him.  Many  a  time — no,  I  don't 
say  many  a  time — but  twic't  I  did  it,  and  found  it  well 
worth  my  while  too.  Some  of  these  ould  scamers  die  wid 
a  purse  o'  goolden  guineas  under  their  head,  and  won't 
confess  it  till  the  last  moment.  Who  knows  what  this 
ould  lad  may  have  about  him'?  I'll  thry  anyhow,"  said  the 
drunken  ruffian;  "it's  not  aisy  to  give  up  an  ould  custom, 
Molly — the  sheriff,  my  darlin',  for  that.  I  aised  him  of  his 
fines,  and  was  near  strikin'  a  double  blow. — I  secured  his 
pocket-book,  and  made  a  good  attempt  to  hang  Willy 
lieilly  for  the  robbery  into  the  bargain.  Now,  hang  it, 
Molly,  didn't  I  look  a  gentleman  in  his  clothes,  shoes, 
silver  buckles,  and  all ;  wasn't  it  well  we  secured  them 
before  the  house  was  burned?  Here,"  he  added,  "take  a 
sneeshin  of  this,"  pulling,  at  the  same  time,  a  pint  bottle  of 
whiskey  out  of  his  pocket,  "  it'll  rise  your  spirits,  an'  I'll  see 
what  cash  this  ould  oodger  has  about  him ;  an'  by-the-way, 
how  the  devil  do  we  know  that  he  doesn't  understand  every 
word  we  say.  Suppose,  now — (hiccup) — that  he  heard  me 
say  I  robbed  the  sheriff,  wouldn't  I  be  in  a  nice  pickle  % 
But,  tell  me  can  you  get  no  trace  of  Rally  ?" 

"  Devil  a  trace ;  they  say  he  has  left  the  country." 

"  If  I  had  what  the  scoundrel  has  promised  me  for  findin' 
him  out  or  securin'  him — here's — here's  to  you — I  say,  if  I 

had,  you  and  I  would" Here  he  pointed  with  his  thumb 

over  his  shoulder,  as  much  as  to  say- they  would  try  another 
climate. 

"  And  now,"  he  proceeded,  "  for  a  search  on  the  shake- 
down. Who  knows  but  the  ould  fellow  has  the  yellow 
boys  (guineas)  about  himT — and  he  was  proceeding  to 
search  Fergus,  when  Mary  flew  at  him,  like  a  tigress. 

"Stop,  you  cowardly  robber!"  she  exclaimed,  "would 
you  bring  down  the  curse  and  the  vengeance  of  God  upon 
both  of  us.  We  have  enough  and  too  much  to  answer  for. 
let  alone  to  rob  the  ould  an'  the  poor." 


WILLY  REILLY.  271 

"  Be  aisy  now,"- said  he;  "  I'll  make  the  search ;  sure  I'm 
iindher  the  scoundrel  Wnitecraft's  protection." 

"Yes,  you  are,  and  you're  undher  my  protection,  too ; 
and  I  tell  you,  if  you  lay  a  hand  upon  him  it'll  be  worse  for 
you." 

"What— what  do  you  mane?" 

"  It's  no  matther  what  I  mane ;  find  it  out." 

"How  do  I  know  but  he  has  heard  usl" 

We  must  now  observe  that  Fergus's  style  of  sleeping  was 
admirably  adapted  for  his  purpose.  It  was  not  accom- 
panied by  a  loud  and  unbroken  snore;  on  the  contrary, 
after  it  had  risen  to  the  highest  and  most  disagreeable 
intonations,  it  stopped  short,  with  a  loud  and  indescribable 
backsnort  in  his  nose,  and  then,  after  a  lull  of  some  length, 
during  which  he  groaned  and  muttered  to  himself,  he  again 
resumed  his  sternutations  in  a  manner  so  natural,  as  would 
have  imposed  upon  Satan  himself,  if  he  had  been  present, 
as  there  is  little  doubt  he  was,  though  not  exactly  visible  to 
the  eyes  of  his  two  precious  agents. 

"  Listen  to  that,"  replied  the  woman ;  "  do  you  think,  now, 
he's  not  asleep]  and  even  if  he  was  sitting  at  the  fire, 
beside  us,  devil  a  syllable  we  said  he  could  understand.  I 
spoke  to  him  in  English,  when  he  came  in,  but  he  didn't 
know  a  word  I  said." 

"Well,  then,  let  the  ould  fellow  sleep  away;  I  won't 
touch  him." 

"Why,  now,  that's  a  good  boy;  go  home  to  your  bar- 
rack*, and  take  a  good  sleep  yourself." 

"Ay,  yes,  certainly  ;  but  have  you  Reilly's  clothes  safe — 
shoes,  silver  buckles,  and  alH" 

"  Ay,  as  safe  as  the  head  on  your  shoulders ;  and,  upon 
my  soul,  a  great  dale  safer,  if  you  rob  any  more  sherinV' 

"  Where  are  they,  then  V 

"Why,  they're  in  my  flat  box,  behind  the  bed,  where 
nobody  could  see  the  in." 

"  Very  well,  Molly,  that  will  do ;  I  may  want  them 
wanst  more,"  he  replied,  pointing  again  with  his  thumb, 
over  his  shoulder,  towards  Wnitecraft's  residence;  "so 
good  night,  be  a  good  girl,  and  take  care  of  yourseif." 

"  No,"  she  replied,  "  but  do  you  be  a  good  boy,  and  take 
care  of  yourself."     And  so  they  parted  for  the  night. 


272  WILLY   REILLY. 

'  The  nexb  day,  Fergus,  possessed  of  very  important  evi- 
dence against  the  Rapparee,  was  travelling  along  the  public 
road,  not  more  than  half-a-mile  from  the  residence  of  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft,  when  whom  should  he  meet  but  the 
identical  sheriff,  on  horseback,  that  the  Rtpparee  had 
robbed.  He  put  his  hand  to  his  hat,  and  asked  him  for 
charity. 

"Help  a  poor  ould  man,  for  the  love  and  honour  of 
God." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  work — why  don't  you  go  work?'5 
replied  the  sheriff. 

"I  am  not  able,  sir,"  returned  Fergus,  "  it  wouldn't  be 
good  for  my  health,  your  honour." 

"  Well,  pass  on,  and  don't  trouble  me ;  I  have  nothing 
for  you." 

"Ah!  thin,  sir,  if  you'd  give  me  a  thrifle,  maybe  I'd 
make  it  worth  your  while." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  the  sheriff,  who  knew  that 
persons  like  him  had  opportunities  of  hearing  and  knowing 
more  about  local  circumstances,  in  consequeuce  of  their 
vagrant  life  than  any  other  class  of  persons  in  society, 
"  What  do  you  mean  by  what  you  have  just  said?" 

"  Aren't  you  the  sheriff,  sir,  that  was  robbed  some  time 
ago?" 

"lam." 

"Ah,  sir,  I  see  you  are  dressed  in  black ;  and  I  heard  of 
the  death  of  the  misthress,  sir." 

"  Well,  but  whac  has  that  to  do  with  what  you  have  just 
now  said — that  you  would  make  it  worth  my  while  if  I 
gave  you  alms  ?" 

"I  said  so,  sir ;  and  I  can,  if  you  will  be  guided  by  me." 

"  Speak  out ;  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  the  man  that  robbed  you,  sir, 
and  would  you  know  him  if  you  did  see  him  ?" 

"  Unquestionably,  I  would  know  him.  They  say  it  was 
Reilly,  but  I  have  seen  Reilly  since;  and  although  the 
dress  was  the  same  which  Reilly  usually  wears,  yet  the 
faces  were  different." 

"Is  your  honour  goin'  far?"  asked  Fergus. 

"  No,  I  am  going  over  to  that  farm-house,  Tom  Brady's  ; 
two  or  three  of  his  family  are  ill  of  fever,  and  I  wis  a  to  do 


WILLY   REILLY.  273 

something   for  him;  I   am  about  to  make  him  my  land 
bailiff." 

"  What  stay  will  you  make  there,  your  honour  T 
11 A  very  short  one,  not  more  than  ten  or  fifteen  minutes." 
"Would  it  be  inconvenient  for  your  honour  to  remain 
there,  or  somewhere  about  the  house,  for  an  hour,  or  may- 
be a  little  longer  V 

■i  For  what  purpose  ?     You  are  a  mysterious  old  fellow." 
"  Bekaise,  if  you'd  wish  to  see  the  man  that  robbed  you, 
I'll  undhertake  to  show  him  to  you,  face  to  face,  within 
that  time.     Will  your  honour  promise  this1?" 

The  sheriff  paused  upon  this  proposal,  coming  as  it  did 
from  such  an  equivocal  authority.  What,  thought  he,  if  it 
should  be  a  plot  for  my  life,  in  consequence  of  the  fines 
which  I  have  been  forced  to  levy  upon  the  Catholic  priests 
and  bishops,  in  my  official  capacity.  God  knows  I  feel  it 
to  be  a  painful  duty." 

"  What  is  your  religion  T  he  .isked,  "  and  why  should 
a  gentleman  in  my  condition  of  life  place  any  confidence 
upon  the  word  of  a  common  vagrant  like  you,  who  must 
necessarily  be  imbued  with  all  the  prejudices  of  your 
creed — for  I  suppose  you  are  a  Catholic  V 

"lam,  sir;  but,  for  all  that,  in  half-an-hour's  time  I'll 
be  a  rank  Protestant." 

The  sheriff  smiled,  and  asked,  "  How  the  devil's  that  ?" 
"  You  are  dressed  in  black,  sir,  in  murnin'  for  your  wife. 
I  have  seen  you  go  into  Tom  Brady's,  to  give  the  sick 
creatures  the  rites  of  their  Church.  I  give  notice  to  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft  that  a  priest  is  there  ;  and  my  word  to 
you,  he  and  his  hounds  will  soon  be  upon  you.  The  man 
that  robbed  you  will  be  among  them — no,  but  the  foremost 
of  them  ;  and  if  you  don't  know  him,  I  can't  help  it — that's 
all,  your  honour." 

"  Well,"  replied  the  sheriff,  "  I  shall  give  you  nothing 
now;  because  I  know  not  whether  what  you  say  can  be 
relied  upon  or  not.  In  the  meantime,  I  shall  remain  an 
hour,  or  better,  in  Brady's  house ;  and  if  your  words  are 
not  made  good,  I  shall  send  to  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  for  a 
military  party  to  escort  me  home." 

"  I  know,  your  honour,"  replied  Fergus,  "  that  Sir  Robert 
and  his  men  are  at  home  to-day ;  and  if  I  don't   fulfil  my 

s 


274:  WILLY  REILLY. 

words,  I'll  give  your  honour  lave  to  whip  me  through  the 
county." 

"Well,"  said  the  sheriff,  "I  shall  remain  an  hour  or  so 
in  Brady's  j  but  I  tell  you  that  if  you  are  deceiving  me  you 
shall  not  escape  me ;  so,  look  to  it.,  and  think  if  what  you 
propose  to  me  is  honest  or  not — if  it  be  not,  woe  betide 
you." 

Fergus  immediately  repaired  to  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft, 
to  whom  he  represented  himself  as  a  poor  Protestant  of  the 
name  of  Bingham,  and  informed  him  that  a  Popish  priest 
was  then  in  Tom  Brady's  house  administering  the  rites  of 
Popery  to  those  who  were  sick  in  the  family. 

"I  seen  him,  your  honour,  go  into  the  house ;  and  he's 
there  this  minute.  If  your  honour  makes  haste  you'll 
catch  him." 

In  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  Sir  Robert  and  his 
crew  were  in  stirrups,  and  on  their  way  to  Tom  Brady's ; 
and  in  the  meantime,  too,  the  sheriff,  dressed  as  he  was,  in 
black,  came  outside  the  door,  from  time  to  time,  more  in 
apprehension  of  a  plot  against  his  life,  than  of  a  visit  from 
Whitecraft,  which  he  knew  must  end  in  nothing.  Now, 
Whitecraft  and  his  followers,  on  approaching  Brady's  house, 
caught  a  glimpse  of  him — a  circumstance  which  not  only 
confirmed  the  baronet  in  the  correctness  of  the  information 
he  had  received,  but  also  satisfied  the  sheriff  that  the 
mendicant  had  not  deceived  him.  Rapid  was  the  rush 
they  made  to  Brady's  house,  and  the  very  first  that  entered 
it  was  the  Red  Rapparee.  He  was  about  to  seize  the 
sheriff,  whom  he  pretended  not  to  know ;  but,  in  a  moment, 
Sir  Robert  and  the  rest  entered,  when  on  recognising  each 
other,  an  explanation  took  place,  with  all  due  apoiogies  to 
the  functionary,  who  said  : 

"  The  mistake,  Sir  Robert,  is  very  natural.  I  certainly 
have  a  clerical  appearance,  as  I  am  in  mourning  for  my 
wife.     I  trust  you  will  neither  hang  nor  transport  me." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  indeed,  Mr.  Oxley ;  but  I  only  acted 
on  information  received." 

"And  I  don't  doubt,  Sir  Robert,"  replied  the  sheriff, 
"  that  the  person  who  gave  you  the  information  may  have 
been  deceived  himself  by  my  ecclesiastical  looking  dress. 
I  am  sorry  you  have  had  so  much  trouble  for  nothing; 


WILLY  REILLY.  2/5 

bub,  upon  my  word  I  feel  extremely  delighted  that  I  am. 
not  a  priest." 

In  the  meantime,  the  sheriff  had  recognised  the  Rap- 
paree,  by  a  single  glance  as  the  man  that  had  robbed  him. 
Be  was  now  certain ;  but  he  took  care  not  to  bestow  the 
least  sign  of  recognition  upon  him;  so  far  from  that,  he 
appeared  to  pay  no  attention  whatsoever  to  the  men ;  but 
chatted  with  Sir  Robert  for  some  time,  who  returned  home 
deeply  disappointed,  though  without  imputing  blame  to 
his  informant,  who,  he  thought,  was  very  naturally  misled 
by  the  dress  of  the  sheriff.  Fergus,  however,  apprehensive 
of  being  involved  in  the  prosecution  of  the  Rapparee,  and 
thus  discovered,  made  a  point  to  avoid  the  sheriff  whose 
cross-examination  a  consciousness  of  his  previous  life  led 
him  to  dread.  Still,  he  had,  to  a  certain  extent — though 
not  definitely  resolved  to  become  evidence  against  him  ; 
but  only,  as  we  have  said,  on  the  condition  of  previously 
receiving  a  full  pardon  for  his  own  misdeeds,  which  was 
granted.  For  upwards  of  a  month,  however,  the  sheriff 
was  confined  to  his  bed,  having  caught,  whilst  in  Brady's, 
the  malignant  fever  which  Jihen  raged  throughout  the 
country. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

SOMETHING  NOT  VERY  PLEASANT  FOR   ALL   PARTIES. 

tHE  position  of  England  at  this  period  was  anything 
but  an  easy  one.  The  Rebellion  of  '45  had  com- 
menced, and  the  young  Pretender  had  gained  some 
signal  victories.  Independently  of  this,  she  was  alarmed 
by  the  rumour  of  a  French  invasion  on  her  southern  coast. 
Apprehensive  lest  the  Irish  Catholics,  galled  and  goaded  as 
they  were  by  the  influence  of  the  penal  laws,  and  the 
dreadful  persecution  which  they  caused  them  to  suffer, 
should  flock  to  the  standard  of  Prince  Charles,  himself  a 
Catholic,  she  deemed  it  expedient,  in  due  time,  to  relax  a 
little,  and  accordingly  she  "  checked  her  hand*  and  changed 
her  pride."    Milder  measures,  were  soon  resorted  to,  during 


276  WILEY  REILLY. 

this  crisis,  in  order  that  by  a  more  liberal  administration  of 
justice,  the  resentment  of  the  suffering  Catholics  might  be 
conciliated,  and  their  loyalty  secured.  This,  however,  was 
a  proceeding  less  of  justice  than  expediency  ;  and  resulted 
more  from  the  actual  and  impending  difficulties  of  England, 
than  from  any  sincere  wish  on  her  part  to  give  civil  and 
religious  freedom  to  her  Catholic  subjects,  or  prosperity  to 
the  country  in  which,  even  then,  their  numbers  largely 
predominated.  Yet,  singular  to  say,  when  the  Kebellion 
first  broke  out,  all  the  chapels  in  Dublin  were  closed,  and 
the  Administration,  as  if  guided  by  some  unintelligible  in- 
fatuation, issued  a  proclamation,  commanding  the  Catholic 
priesthood  to  depart  from  the  city.  Those  who  refused 
to  obey  this  senseless  and  impolitic  edict  were  threatened 
with  the  utmost  severity  of  the  law.  Harsh  as  that  law 
was,  the  Catholics  obeyed  it ;  yet,  even  this  obedience  did 
not  satisfy  the  Protestant  party,  or  rather  that  portion  of 
them  who  were  active  agents  in  carrying  out  this  impru- 
dent and  unjustifiable  rigour  at  such  a  period.  They  were 
seized  by  a  kind  of  panic,  and  imagined  forsooth  that  a 
broken  down  and  disarmed^eople  might  engage  in  a 
general  massacre  of  the  Irish  Protestants.  Whether  this- 
incomprehensible  terror  was  real,  is  a  matter  of  doubt  and 
uncertainty ;  or  whether  it  was  assumed  as  a  justification 
for  assailing  the  Catholics  in  a  general  massacre,  similar  to 
that  which  they  apprehended,  or  pretended  to  apprehend^ 
is  also  a  matter  of  question ;  yet  certain  it  is,  that  a 
proposal  to  massacre  them  in  cold  blood  was  made  in  the 
Privy  Council.  "  But,"  says  O'Connor,  "  the  humanity  of 
the  members  rejected  this  barbarous  proposal,  and  crushed 
in  its  infancy  a  conspiracy  hatched  in  Lurgan  to  extirpate 
the  Catholics  of  that  town  and  vicinity." 

In  the  meantime,  so  active  was  the  persecuting  spirit  of 
such  men  as  Whitecraft  and  Smellpriest,  that  a  great 
number  of  the  unfortunate  priests  fled  to  the  metropolis, 
where,  in  a  large  and  populous  city,  they  had  a  better 
chance  of  remaining  incogniti,  than  when  living  in  the 
country,  exposed  and  likely  to  be  more  marked  by  spies 
and  informers.  A  very  dreadful  catastrophe  took  place 
about  this  time.  A  congregation  of  Catholic  people  had 
heard  Mass  upon  an  old  loft,  which  had  for  many  years 


WILLY  BEILLY.  277 

been  decayed — in  fact,  actually  rotten.  Mass  was  over, 
and  the  priest  was  about  to  give  them  the  parting  benedic- 
tion, when  the  floor  went  down  with  a  terrific  crash. 
The  result  was  dreadful.  The  priest  and  a  great  many  of 
the  congregation  were  killed  on  the  spot,  and  a  vast 
number  of  them  wounded  and  maimed  for  life.  The  Pro- 
testant inhabitants  of  Dublin  sympathised  deeply  with  the 
sufferers,  whom  they  relieved  and  succoured  as  far  as  in 
them  lay,  and,  by  their  remonstrances,  Government  was 
shamed  into  a  more  humane  administration  of  the  laws. 

In  order  to  satisfy  our  readers  that  we  have  not  over- 
drawn our  pictures  of  what  the  Catholics  suffered  in  those 
uuhappy  times,  we  shall  give  a  quotation  from  the  Messrs. 
Chambers,  of  Edinburgh,  themselves  fair  and  liberal  men, 
and  as  impartial  as  they  are  able  and  well  informed : — 

"Since  the  pacification  of  Limerick,  Ireland  had  been 
ruled  exclusively  by  the  Protestant  party,  who,  under  the 
influence  of  feelings  arising  from  local  and  religious  anti- 
pathies, had  visited  the  Catholics  with  many  severities. 
The  oath  which  had  excluded  the  Catholics  from  office  had 
been  followed,  in  1698,  by  an  Act  of  the  Irish  Parliament, 
commanding  all  Romish  priests  to  leave  the  kingdom, 
under  the  penalty  of  transportation,  a  return  from  which 
was  to  be  punishable  by  death.  Another  law  decreed 
forfeiture  of  property  and  civil  rights  to  all  who  should 
send  their  children  abroad,  to  be  educated  in  the  Catholic 
faith."* 

Can  any  reasonable  person  be  in  doubt  for  a  moment, 
that  those  laws  were  laws  of  extermination  ?  In  the  mean- 
time, let  us  hear  the  Messrs.  Chambers  further  : — 

"  After  the  death  of  William,  who  was  much  opposed  to 
severities  on  account  of  religion,  Acts  of  still  greater  rigour 
were  passed,  for  preventing  the  growth  of  Popery.  Any 
child  of  a  Roman  Catholic,  who  should  declare  himself  a 
Protestant,  was  entitled  to  become  the  heir  of  his  estate, 
the  father  merely  holding  it  for  his  lifetime,  and  having  no 
command  over  it.  Catholics  were  made  incapable  of  suc- 
ceeding to  Protestants,  and  lands,  passing  over  them,  were 

*  "  History  and  Present  State  of  the  British  Empire."  Edin- 
burgh, W.  and  R.  Chambers. 


278  WILLY  REILLY. 

to  go  to  the  next  Protestant  heir.  Catholic  parents  were 
prevented  from  being  guardians  to  their  own  children  ;  no 
Protestant  possessing  property  was  to  be  permitted  to 
marry  a  Catholic ;  and  Catholics  were  rendered  incapable 
of  purchasing  landed  property,  or  enjoying  long  leases. 
These  measures  naturally  rendered  the  Catholics  discon- 
tented subjects,  and  led  to  much  turbulence.  The  common 
people  of  that  persuasion,  being  denied  all  access  to  justice, 
took  it  into  their  own  hands,  and  acquired  all  those  law- 
less habits,  for  which  they  have  since  been  remarkable. 
Treachery,  cruelty,  and  all  the  lower  passions  were  called 
into  vigorous  exercise.  Even  the  Protestants,  for  their 
own  sakes,  were  often  obliged  to  connive  at  the  evasion  of 
laws  so  extremely  severe,  and  which  introduced  much 
difficulty  in  their  dealings  with  Catholics ;  but,  when  any 
Protestant  wished  to  be  revenged  upon  a  Catholic,  or  to 
extort  money  from  him,  he  found  in  these  laws  a  ready 
instrument  for  his  purpose.  By  an  additional  Act,  in 
1726,  it  was  ordained,  that  a  Roman  Catholic  priest, 
marrying  a  Protestant  to  a  Catholic,  should  suffer  death; 
and  in  order  that  legal  redress  might  be  still  less  accessible 
to  the  Catholics,  it  was  enacted,  in  1728,  that  no  one 
should  be  entitled  to  practise  as  an  attorney,  who  had  not 
been  two  years  a  Protestant." 

This  is  a  clear  and  succinct  epitome  of  the  penal  laws ; 
true,  much  more  might  be  added  ;  but  it  is  enough  to  say, 
that  those  who  sow  the  wind  will  reap  the  whirlwind.  It 
is  not  by  placing  restrictions  upon  creeds  or  ceremonies, 
that  religion  can  ever  be  checked,  much  less  extinguished. 
Like  the  camomile  plant,  the  more  it  is  trampled  on  the 
more  it  will  spread  and  grow;  as  the  rude  winds  and 
inclemency  of  the  elements  only  harden  and  make  more 
vigorous  the  constitutions  of  those  who  are  exposed  to 
them.  In  our  state  of  the  world,  those  who  have  the 
administration  of  political  laws  in  their  hands,  if  they  ever 
read  history,  or  can  avail  themselves  of  the  experience  of 
ages,  ought  to  know  that  it  is  not  by  severity  or  persecution 
that  the  affections  of  their  fellow-subjects  can  be  conciliated. 
We  ourselves  once  knew  a  brutal  ruffian,  who  was  a  dealer 
in  fruit  in  the  little  town  of  Maynooth,  and  whose  principle 
of  correcting  his  children  was  to  continue  whipping  the  poor 


WILLY   REILLY.  279 

things  until  they  were  forced  to  laugh  !  A  person  was  one 
day  present  when  he  commenced  chastising  one  of  them — a 
child  of  about  seven — upon  this  barbarous  principle.  This 
individual  was  then  young  and  strong,  and  something 
besides  of  a  pugilist ;  but  on  witnessing  the  affecting  efforts 
of  the  little  fellow  to  do  that  which  was  not  within  the 
compass  of  any  natural  effort,  he  deliberately  knocked  the 
ruffian  down,  after  having  first  remonstrated  with  him  to 
no  purpose.  He  arose,  however,  and  attacked  the  other, 
but,  thanks  to  a  good  arm,  and  a  quick  eye,  he  prostrated 
him  again,  and  again,  and  again ;  he  then  caught  him  by 
the  throat,  for  he  was  already  subdued,  and  squeezing  his 
windpipe  to  some  purpose,  the  fellow  said  in  a  choking 
voice,  "  Are  you  going  to  kill  me  V 

"  No,"  replied  the  other,  "  I  only  want  to  see  the  length 
of  your  tongue ;  don't  be  alarmed,  the  whole  thing  will  end 
merrily;  come  now,  give  three  of  the  heartiest  laughs  you 
ever  gave  in  your  life,  or  down  goes  your  apple-cart — you 
know  what  that  means  V 

"  I— I   c— a— n'— t,"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  you  can,"  replied  his  castigator,  "  nothing's  more 
easy;  come,  be  merry." 

The  caitiff,  for  he  was  a  coward,  and  wanted  bottom, 
upon  getting  a  little  wind,  whilst  the  other  held  him  by 
the  throat,  gave  three  of  the  most  ludicrous,  but  disastrous 
howls  that  ever  were  witnessed.  On  his  opponent  letting 
him  go,  he  took  to  his  heels,  but  got  a  kick  on  going  out 
that  was  rather  calculated  to  accelerate  his  flight.  Legis- 
lators, therefore,  ought  to  know  that  no  political  whipping 
will  ever  make  a  people  laugh  at  the  pleasure  of  it. 

But  to  resume  our  narrative.  England,  now  apprehen- 
sive, as  we  have  said,  of  a  descent  of  the  French  upon  her 
southern  coast,  and  startled  by  the  successes  of  the  young 
Pretender,  who  had  cut  Cops's  army  to  pieces,  deemed  it 
expedient  to  send  over  the  celebrated  Earl  of  Chesterfield 
as  Yiceroy,  with  instructions  to  relax  the  rigour  of  the 
laws,  and  conciliate  the  Catholics,  as  well  as  he  could ;  so, 
at  least,  as  to  prevent  them  from  joining  the  Pretender, 
whose  object  it  was  understood  to  be,  to  cross  the  frontier 
and  march  upon  London.  Lord  Chesterfield's  policy 
afforded  great  gratification  to  the  Catholics,  who  were  now 


230  WILLY   REILLY. 

restored  to  their  usual  privileges ;  and  its  political  object 
was  so  far  successful  that,  as  we  have  said,  not  a  single  man 
of  them  ever  joined  the  Pretender.  Still,  the  liberal  Pro- 
testants, or,  as  they  were  termed,  the  patriotic  party,  were 
not  satisfied  with  the  mere  removal  of  the  Catholic  restric- 
tions. Ireland,  at  that  time,  was  studded  with  men,  or 
rather  with  monsters,  like  Saiellpriest  and  Whitecraft,  who 
were  stained  with  the  blood  of  their  fellow-subjects  a  id 
fellow-Christians.  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  especially,  was 
now  in  a  bad  position,  although  he  himself  was  ignorant  of 
it.  The  French  Ambassador  demanded  satisfaction,  in  the 
name  of  his  Court  and  the  French  nation,  for  the  outrage 
that  had  been  committed  upon  a  French  subject,  and  by 
which  international  law  was  so  grossly  violated.  We  must 
say  here  that  Whitecraft,  in  the  abundance  of  his  loyalty 
and  zeal,  was  in  the  habit,  in  his  searches  after  priests,  and 
suspected  lay  Catholics,  to  pay  domiciliary  visits  to  the 
houses  of  many  Protestant  magistrates,  clergymen,  and 
even  gentlemen  of  wealth  and  distinction,  who  were 
suspected,  from  their  known  enmity  to  persecution,  of 
harbouring  Catholic  priests  and  others  of  that  persuasion  ; 
so  that,  in  point  of  fact,  he  had  created  more  enemies  in 

the  country  than  any  man  living.     The  Marquis  of , 

Mr.  Hastings,  Mr.  Brown,  together  with  a  great  number  of 
the  patriotic  party,  had  already  transmitted  a  petition  to 
the  Lord  Lieutenant,  under  the  former  Administration; 
but  it  was  not  attended  to,  the  only  answer  they  got 
having  been  a  simple  acknowledgment  of  its  receipt. 
This,  on  coming  to  Sir  Robert's  ears,  which  it  did  from  one 
of  the  underlings  of  the  Castle,  only  gave  a  spur  to  his  iu- 
solence,  and  still  more  fiercely  stimulated  his  persecuting 
spirit.  He  felt  conscious  that  Government  would  protect 
him,  or  rather  reward  him,  for  any  acts  of  violence  which 
he  might  commit  against  the  Catholic  party,  and  so  far, 
under  his  own  pet  Administration,  he  was  right. 

The  petition  we  have  alluded  to  having  been  treated 
with  studied  contempt,  the  persons  and  party  already 
mentioned  came  to  the  determination  of  transmitting  an- 
other still  more  full  and  urgent,  to  the  new  Viceroy,  whose 
feeling  it  was,  for  the  reasons  we  have  stated,  to  reverse 
the  policy  of  his  predecessor. 


WILLY  REILLY.  281 

His  liberal  administration  encouraged  them,  therefore,  to 
send  him  a  clear  statement  of  the  barbarous  outrages  com- 
mitted by  such  men  as  Smellpriest  and  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft,  not  only  against  his  Majesty's  Roman  Catholic 
subjects,  but  against  many  loyal  Protestant  magistrates,  and 
other  Protestants  of  distinction  and  property,  merely  be- 
cause they  were  supposed  to  entertain  a  natural  sympathy 
for  their  persecuted  fellow-subjects  and  fellow-countrymen. 
They  said  that  the  conduct  of  those  men  and  of  the  Govern- 
ment that  had  countenanced  and  encouraged  them,  had 
destroyed  the  prosperity  of  the  country,  by  interrupting 
and  annulling  all  bona  fide  commercial  transactions  between 
Protestant  and  Catholic.  That  those  men  had  not  only 
transgressed  the  instructions  they  received  from  his  pre- 
decessor, but  all  those  laws  that  go  to  the  security  of  life 
and  property.  That  they  were  guilty  of  several  cruel  and 
atrocious  murders,  arsons,  and  false  imprisonments,  for 
which  they  were  never  brought  to  account ;  and  that,  in 
fine,  they  were  steeped  in  crime  and  blood,  because  they 
knew  that  his  predecessor,  ignorant,  perhaps,  of  the  extent 
of  their  guilt,  threw  his  shield  over  them,  and  held  them 
irresponsible  to  the  laws  for  those  savage  outrages. 

They  then  stated,  that,  in  their  humble  judgment,  a 
mere  relaxation  in  the  operation  of  the  severe  and  penal 
laws  against  Catholics  would  not  be  an  act  of  sufficient 
atonement  to  them  for  all  they  had  previously  suffered  ;  that 
to  overlook,  or  connive  at,  or  protect  those  great  criminals 
would  be  at  variance,  not  only  with  all  principles  of  justice, 
but  with  the  spirit  of  the  British  Constitution  itself,  which 
never  recognises,  much  less  encourages,  a  wicked  and 
deliberate  violation  of  its  own  laws.  That  the  present  was 
a  critical  moment,  which  demanded  great  judgment  and 
equal  humanity  in  the  administration  of  the  laws  in 
Ireland.  A  rebellion  was  successfully  progressing  in 
Scotland,  and  it  appeared  to  them  that  not  only  common 
justice  but  sound  policy  ought  to  prompt  the  Government 
to  attract  and  conciliate  the  Catholic  population  of  Ireland, 
by  allowing  them  to  participate  in  the  benefits  of  the 
Constitution,  which  hitherto  existed  not  for  them,  thousands 
of  whom,  finding  their  country  but  a  bed  of  thorns,  might, 
from   a   mere   sense   of  relief,  or,   what  was  more  to  be 


282  WILLY  REILLY. 

dreaded,  a  spirit  of  natural  vengeance,  flock  to  the  standard 
of  the  Pretender. 

His  Excellency,  already  aware  of  the  startling  but  just 
demand  which  had  been  made  by  the  French  Ambassador, 
for  the  national  insult  by  Whitecraft  to  his  country,  was 
himself  startled  and  shocked  by  the  atrocities  of  those 
blood-stained  delinquents. 

His  reply,  however,  was  brief,  but  to  the  purpose. 

His  secretary  acknowledged  the  receipt  of  the  memorial, 
and  stated  that  the  object  of  his  Excellency  was  not  to 
administer  the  laws  in  cruelty,  but  in  mercy;  that  he  consi- 
dered all  classes  of  his  Majesty's  subjects  equally  entitled  to 
their  protection;  and  that  with  respect  to  the  persons 
against  whom  such  serious  charges  and  allegations  had  been 
made,  he  had  only  to  say,  that  if  they  were  substantiated 
against  them  in  a  court  of  justice,  they  must  suffer  like 
other  criminals — if  they  can  be  proved,  Government  will 
leave  them,  as  it  would  any  common  felons,  to  the  laws  of 
the  country.  His  Excellency  is  determined  to  administer 
those  laws  with  the  strictest  impartiality,  and  without 
leaning  to  any  particular  class  or  creed.  So  far  as  the  laws 
will  allow  him,  their  protection  shall  be  extended,  on  just 
and  equal  principles,  to  the  poor  and  to  the  rich,  to 
the  Catholic  and  to  the  Protestant. 

This  communication,    which   was  kept    strictly    secret, 

reached  the  Marquis  of at  a  critical  period  of  our 

narrative.  Whitecraft,  who  was  ignorant  of  it,  but  suffi- 
ciently aware  of  the  milder  measures  which  the  new 
Administration  had  adopted,  finding  that  the  trade  of 
priest-hunting  and  persecution  was,  for  the  present,  at  an 
end,  resolved  to  accelerate  his  marriage  with  Miss  Folliard, 
and  for  this  purpose  he  waited  upon  her  father,  in  order  to 
secure  his  consent.  His  object  was  to  retire  to  his  English 
estates,  and  there  pass  the  remainder  of  his  life  with  his 
beautiful  but  reluctant  bride.  He  paid  his  visit  about  two 
o'clock,  and  was  told  that  Miss  Folliard  and  her  father 
were  in  the  garden.  Hither  he  accordingly  repaired,  and 
found  the  Squire,  his  daughter,  and  Reilly  in  the  green- 
house. When  the  Squire  saw  him  he  cried  out,  with 
something  of  a  malicious  triumph  : 

"  Hallo,  Sir  Robert !  '  why  art  thou  so  pale,  youDg  lover  1 


WILLY  REILLY.  283 

why  art  thou  so  pale  V — and  why  does  thy  lip  hang,  Sir 
Robert  1 — new  men,  new  measures,  Sir  Robert — and  so, 
•  Othello's  occupation's  gone,'  and  the  Earl  of  Chesterfield 
goes  to  Mass  every  Sunday,  and  is  now  able  to  repeat  his 
jmdareens  in  Irish." 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you  so  pleasant,  Air.  Folliard ;  but 
I'm  delighted  to  see  the  beautiful  state  of  your  greenhouse 
— oh,  Miss  Folliard ! — excuse  me.  Your  back  was  to  me, 
and  you  were  engaged  in  trailing  that  beautiful  shrub ; 
allow  me  the  honour  of  shaking  hands  with  you." 

"Sir  Robert,  I  bid  you  good  day,  but  you  see  that  I  have 
my  garden  gloves  on ;  you  will  excuse  me." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Folliard,"  he  replied,  "  your  will  is  the  spirit 
of  the  British  Constitution  to  me." 

"  A  spirit  which,  I  fear,  you  have  too  frequently  violated, 
Sir  Robert ;  but,  as  papa  says,  I  believe  your  cruel  occupa- 
tion is  gone — at  least  I  hope  so," 

"  Gad,  you  got  it  there,  Sir  Robert,"  replied  her  father 
laughing. 

"  I  must  confess  it,"  replied  the  baronet ;  "  but  I  think, 
in  order  to  ingratiate  myself  with  Miss  Folliard,  I  shall 
take  whatever  side  she  recommends  me. — How,  Mr.  Fol- 
liard," he  proceeded,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  Reilly — "  what 
the  deuce  is  this?  Have  you  got  Robinson  Crusoe 
here  V 

"We  have,"  replied  the  Squire;  "but  his  man  Friday 
has  got  married  to  a  Tipperary  woman,  and  he's  now  in 
quest  of  a  desert  island  for  him  and  her  to  settle  in." 

"  I  think,  papa,"  said  Helen,  "  that  if  the  principles  of 
Sir  Robert  and  his  class  were  carried  out,  he  would  not 
have  far  to  go  to  look  for  one." 

"Another  hit,  Bob,  you  dog — another  hit.  Well  said, 
Helen — well  said,  I  say.  Crusoe,  you  villain,  hold  up  your 
head,  and  thank  God  you're  christened." 

"  Wid  de  help  o'  Gad,  shir,  I  was  christhened  af  whore, 
sure,  by  the  priesht." 

This  visit  occurred  about  six  weeks  after  the  appoint- 
ment of  the  new  Viceroy  to  the  Government  of  Ireland., 
and  about  five  after  the  sheriff's  illness. 

£i  Come,  Whitecraft,"  said  the  Squire,  "  come  and  let  us 
have  lunch  ;  I'll  hold  a  crown  I  give  you  as  good  a  glass 


2 Si  -WILLY   IlEILLY. 

of  Burgundy  as  you  gave  me  the  other  day,  and  will  say 
<lone  first." 

"  Won't  Miss  Foiliard  join  us  at  lunch  ?"  asked  White- 
-craft,  looking  to  her  for  an  assent. 

"  Why,  I  suppose  so,"  replied  her  father ;  "  won't  you 
come.  Helen?" 

"You  know,  papa,  I  never  lunch." 

"  Gad,  and  neither  do  you,  Helen.  Come,  Sir  Robert, 
we  will  have  a  mouthful  to  eat,  and  something  good  to 
wash  it  down •  come  along,  man,  what  the  devil  are  you 
scrutinising  poor  old  Robinson  Crusoe  for?  Come  along, 
I  say,  the  old  chap  is  making  the  greenhouse  thrive ;  he 
beats  Malcomson.  Here,  Malcomson,  you  know  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Hout,  your  honour,  wha  disna  ken  Sir  Robert  White- 
-eraft?  Isn't  his  name  far  and  near,  as  a  braw  defender  o' 
the  faith,  and  a  putter  down  o'  Papistry?" 

"By  the  way,  Malcomson,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "where  did 
you  get  Robinson  Crusoe,  by  which  I  mean  that  wild  look- 
ing man  in  the  greenhouse?" 

"Saul,  sir,  it's  a  question  I  never  speered  at  him.  He 
cam'  here  as  a  gaberJunzie,  and  on  stating  that  he  was 
indoctrinated  in  the  sceence  o'  buttany,  his  honour  garred 
me  employ  him.  De'il  hae't  but  the  truth  I'll  tell — he's  a 
clever  buttanist,  and  knows  a'  the  sceeutific  names  aff 
hand." 

"So  that's  all  you  know  about  him?"  said  Sir  Robert. 
"He  has  a  devil  of  a  beard,  and  is  shockingly  dressed. 
Why  doesn't  he  shave?" 

"Ou,  just  some  Papistry  nonsense,"  replied  the  gardener  ; 
"  but  we  ha'e  naething  to  do  wi'  that,  sae  lang's  we  get  the 
worth  o'  our  siller  out  o'  him." 

"  Here's  a  shilling,  Malcomson,"  said  Sir  Robert. 

"Na,  na,  your  honour;  a  shilling's  no  for  a  man  that 
understands  the  sceence  o'  buttany :  a  shilling's  for  a  flunk}* 
in  levery ;  but  as  for  me,  I  couldna  conscientiously  conde- 
scend upon  less  than  ten  o'  them,  or  may  be  a  pund  British, 
but  I'm  feart  that's  contrair  to  your  honour's  habits." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "  I  have  no  more  silver, 
and  so  I  leave  you  to  the  agreeable  society  of  Robinson 
Crusoe." 


WILLY  REILLY.  285 

Reilly  had  watched  Sir  Robert's  motions,  as  well  as  his 
countenance,  in  a  manner  as  furtively  as  possible.  Some- 
times, indeed,  he  stared  at  him  broadty,  and  with  a  stupid, 
oafish  look,  and  again  placed  himself  in  such  a  position 
behind  the  range  of  flower-pots  which  were  placed  upon 
the  ledges,  that  he  could  observe  him  without  being  per- 
ceived himself.  The  force  of  habit,  however,  is  extra- 
ordinary. Our  hero  was  a  man  exceedingly  remarkable  for 
personal  cleanliness,  and  consequently  made  a  point  to 
wash  his  hands  morning  and  evening  with  peculiar  care. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  the  lynx  eye  of  Sir  Robert  observed  their 
whiteness,  and  he  instantly  said  to  himself,  '"'This  is  no 
common  labourer;  I  know  that  he  is  not,  from  the  white- 
ness of  his  hands.  Besides,  he  is  disguised ;  it  is  evident 
from  the  length  of  his  beard,  and  the  unnecessary  coarse- 
ness of  his  apparel.  Then  his  figure,  the  symmetry  and 
size  of  which  no  disguise  can  conceal ;  this,  and  everything 
else,  assures  me  that  he  is  disguised,  and  that  he  is, 
besides,  no  other  individual  than  the  man  I  want,  William 
Reilly,  who  has  been  hitherto  my  evil  genius ;  but  it  shall 
go  hard  with  me,  or  I  shall  be  his  now."  Such  were  his 
meditations  as  he  passed  along  with  the  Squire  to  join  hiiu 
at  luncb. 

When  they  had  left  the  garden,  Reilly  addressed  hi* 
Cooleen  Bawn,  as  follows : 

"  Helen,  I  am  discovered." 

"  Discovered  !  0  my  God,  no  1" 

"  Unquestionably,  there  is  no  doubt  of  it;  it  is  certain." 

"But  how  do  you  know  that  it  is  certain  V 

"  Because  I  observed  that  Whi  tec  raft's  eyes  were  never 
off  my  hands ;  he  knew  that  a  common  labourer  could  not 
possibly  have  such  hands.  Helen,  I  am  discovered,  and 
must  fly." 

"  But  you  know  that  there  is  a  change  of  Administration, 
and  that  the  severity  of  the  laws  has  been  relaxed  against 
Catholics." 

4'  Yes,  you  told  me  so,  and  I  have  no  fear  for  myself; 
but  what  I  apprehend  is,  that  this  discovery  of  which  I  feel 
certain,  will  precipitate  your  marriage  with  that  miscreant; 
they  will  entrap  you  into  it;  and  then  I  am  miserable  forever." 

"Then,  William,  we  must  fly  this  very  night;  we  will 


236  WILLY  REILLY. 

proceed  to  the  Continent,  to  some  Protestant  state,  where 
we  can  get  married  without  any  danger  to  the  clergyman 
who  may  unite  us." 

"  It  is  all  that  is  left  for  us,"  replied  Reilly  ;  "  I  should 
sooner  lose  life  than  you,  my  beloved  Helen ;  and  now  what 
is  to  be  done  ?  Fly  we  must ;  and  in  anticipation  of  the 
necessity  of  this  step  I  left  a  suit  of  clothes  with  Lanigan ; 
or  rather  with  a  poor  widow,  who  was  a  pensioner  of  mine 
— a  Mrs.  Buckley,  from  whom  Lanigan  got  them,  and  has 
them.  I  could  not  think  of  accompanying  you  in  this  vile 
dress.  On  your  way  in,  try  to  see  Lanigan,  and  desire  him 
to  come  out  to  me.  There  is  not  a  moment  to  be  lost ; 
and,  my  dear  Helen,  show  no  marks  of  agitation  ;  be  calm 
and  firm,  or  we  are  undone." 

"Rely  on  me,  dear  Eeilly,  rely  on  me;  I  shall  send 
Lanigan  to  you." 

She  left  him,  and  went  to  her  room,  when  she  rang  the 
bell,  and  her  maid,  the  faithful  Connor,  who  had  been 
restored  to  her  service,  came  to  her. 

"  Connor,"  said  she,  "  I  shall  not  be  able  to  dine  with 
papa  to-day,  especially  as  that  wretch  Whitecraft  is  likely 
to  dine  with  him.  Go  to  Lanigan,  and  tell  him  to  come  to 
me,  for  I  wish  to  know  if  he  has  anything  light  and  deli- 
cate that  he  could  send  to  my  own  room;  Connor,  lam 
very  unhappy." 

"  But,  Miss,  sure  they  say  that  the  laws  are  changed,  and 
that  Mr.  Reilly  may  go  at  large  if  he  wishes." 

"  I  know  that,  Connor ;  but  send  Lanigan  to  me  imme- 
diately." 

When  Lanigan  entered,  he  found  the  Cooleen  Bavm  in  tears. 

"  My  God,  Miss  Folliard,"  said  he,  "  what  is  the  matter 
with  you]  why  are  you  crying,  or  what  have  they  done 
to  you  I" 

"Lanigan,"  she  replied,  wiping  her  eyes,  "you  and 
Connor  only  are  in  our  secret;  we  must  fiy  this  night." 

"  This  night,  Miss  Folliard  !" 

"  This  night,  Lanigan ;  and  you  must  assist  us." 

"  To  the  last  drop  of  my  blood,  I  will." 

"  Lanigan,  Reilly  is  discovered." 

"Discovered,  Miss!  good  God,  how  was  he  discovered]" 

"  By  his  hands,  by  the  whiteness  of  his  beautiful  hands. 


WILLY  REILLY.  287 

Now,  Lanigan,  Sir  Robert,  aware  that  he  cannot  act  the 
tyrant  at  present,  as  he  used  to  do,  will  instigate  my 
father  to  some  act  of  outrage  against  him ;  for  you  know, 
Lanigan,  how  cowardly,  how  cruel,  how  vindictive  the 
detestable  villain  is ;  and  most  assuredly  he  will  make  my 
credulous  and  generous,  but  hot-tempered  father  the 
instrument  of  his  vengeance  upon  Keilly ;  and  besides  he 
will  certainly  urge  him  to  bring  about  ah  immediate 
marriage  between  himself  and  me,  to  which,  it  is  true,  I 
would,  and  will  die,  sooner  than  consent.  I  will  dine  here, 
Lanigan,  for  I  cannot  bear  to  look  upon  my  dear  father, 

whom  I  am  about  to "     Here  her  tears  interrupted  her, 

and  she  could  proceed  no  farther;  at  length  she  recovered 
herself,  and  resumed  :  "  I  know,"  she  added,  "  that  White- 
craft  is  now  detailing  his  discovery  and  his  plans.  Oh! 
that,  for  Beilly's  sake,  I  could  become  acquainted  with 
them  I" 

"What  would  you  wish  for  dinner,  Miss  Folliardl* 
asked  Lanigan,  calmly. 

"  For  dinner  1  oh,  anything,  anything ;  I  care  not  what, 
but  see  Reilly,  tell  him  I  have  a  second  key  for  the  back 
gate  in  the  garden,  and  also  for  the  front;  and,  Lani- 
gan  " 

"  Well,  Miss  Folliard ;  but,  for  God's  sake,  don't  cry  so  ; 
your  eyes  will  get  red,  and  your  father  may  notice  it." 

"  True,  thank  you,  Lanigan  ;  and  Reilly,  besides,  told 
me  to  keep  myself  calm ;  but  how  can  I,  Lanigan  1  Oh, 
my  father !  my  beloved  father !  how  can  I  abandon — desert 
him1?  No,  Lanigan,  I  will  not  go;  say  to  Reilly — 
say  I  have  changed  my  mind ;  tell  him  that  my  affection 
for  my  father  has  overcome  my  love  for  him;  say  I  will 
never  marry — that  my  heart  is  his,  and  never  will  or  can 
be  another's.  Bat  then  again — he,  the  noble-minded,  the 
brave,  the  generous,  the  disinterested — alas !  I  know  not 
what  to  do,  Lanigan,  nor  how  to  act.  If  I  remain  here, 
they  will  strive  to  force  this  odious  marriage  on  me ;  and 
then  some  fearful  catastrophe  will  happen ;  for  sooner  than 
marry  Whitecraft,  I  would  stab  either  him  or  myself. 
Either  that,  Lanigan,  or  I  should  go  mad;  for  do  you 
know,  Lanigan,  that  there  is  insanity  in  our  family,  by  my 
father's  side?"  :   ; 


288  WILLY  REILLY. 

"Unfortunately  I  know  it,  Miss  Foliiard;  your  uncle 
died  in  a  mad-house,  and  it  was  in  that  way  the  estate 
came  to  your  father.  But  remember  what  you  say  Mr. 
Reilly  told  you :  be  calm ;  I  will  send  up  some  light 
nourishing  dinner  to  you,  at  the  usual  hour ;  and  in  the 
meantime  I  will  see  him  before  then  and  forge  some 
excuse  for  bringing  it  up  myself." 

"Slay,  Lanigan,  I  am  sadly  perplexed;  I  scarcely  know 
what  I  say  ;  I  am  in  a  state  of  inconceivable  distraction. 
Suppose  I  should  change  my  mind;  it  is  not  unlikely;  I 
am  whirled  about  by  a  crowd  of  contending  emotions ;  but 
— well — let  me  see — oh,  yes — it  will  be  as  well,  Lanigan, 
to  have  two  horses  ready  saddled  :  that  is  no  crime,  I  hope, 
if  we  should  go.  I  must,  of  course,  put  on  my  riding 
habit." 

"Begging  your  pardon,  Miss  Foliiard,  you'il  do  no  such 
thing ;  would  you  wish  to  have  yourself  discovered  in  the 
first  inn  you  might  put  up  at  %  No  :  dress  yourself  in  oue 
of  Connor's  dresses  so  that  you  may  appear  as  humble  as 
possible,  and  anything  but  a  lady  of  rank  ;  otherwise  it  will 
be  difficult  for  you  to  escape  observation." 

"  Well,  Lanigan,  all  I  can  say  is,  that  he  and  I  shall 
place  ourselves  under  your  advice  and  guidance.  But  my 
father — oh,  my  dear  father !  And  again  she  wrung  her 
hands,  and  wept  bitterly. 

"Miss  Helen,"  said  he,  "as  sure  as  the  Lord's  in  heaven 
you  will  discover  yourself;  and,  after  all,  how  do  you 
know  that  Sir  Eobert  has  found  out  Mr.  lieilly  1  Sure  it's 
nothing  but  bare  suspicion  on  both  your  parts.  At  any 
rate,  I'll,  saddle  Paudeen  O'Rafferty  wid  my  own  hands, 
and  I'll  put  on  Molly  Crudden's  big  pillion,  for  you  know 
she's  too  fat  to  walk  to  Mass,  and  you  will  feel  yourself 
quite  easy  and  comfortable  in  it." 

"No,  no,  Lanigan ;  I  know  not  why  the  impression  is  on 
me;  but  I  feel  as  if  I  were  never  to  experience  comfort 
more.  Go  to  Mr.  Reilly  ;  make  what  arrangements  he  and 
you  may  think  proper,  and  afterwards  you  can  acquaint  me 
with  them.  You  see,  Lanigan,  in  what  a  state  of  excite- 
meut  and  uncertainty  I  am.  But  tell  Reilly,  that,  rather 
than  be  forced  into  a  marriage  with  WhUecraft— rather  than  go 
distracted — rather  than  die— I  shall  fly  with  him." 


WILLY   REILLY.  28$ 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

REILLY'S  DISGUISE  PENETRATED — HE  ESCAPES — FERGUS 
REILLY  IS  ON  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  RAPPAREE — SIR  ROBERT 
BEGINS  TO  FEEL  CONFIDENT  OF  SUCCESS. 

ij/^)ANIGAN,  on  passing  the  dining  parlour,  heard  what 
i||[£y  he  conceived  to  be  loud  and  angry  voices  inside  the 
<*-•  *  room,  and  as  the  coast  was  clear,  he  deliberately  put 
his  ear  to  the  keyhole,  which  ear  drank  in  the  following 
conversation : 

"  I  say,  Sir  Robert,  I'll  shoot  the  villain.  Do  not  hold 
me.  My  pistols  are  unloaded  and  loaded  every  day  in  the 
year ;  and  ever  since  I  transported  that  rebel  priest  I  never 
go  without  them.  But  are  you  sure,  Sir  Robert  2  Is  it 
not  possible  you  may  be  mistaken]  I  know  you  are  a 
suspicious  fellow  ;  but  still,  as  I  said,  you.  are,  for  that  very 
reason,  the  more  liable  to  be  wrong.  But,  if  it  is  he,  what's 
to  be  done,  unless  I  shoot  him  V1 

"  Under  the  last  Administration,  sir,  I  could  have 
answered  your  question ;  but  you  know  that  if  you  shoot 
him  now  you  will  be  hanged.  All  that's  left  for  us  is 
simply  to  efiV.ct  this  marriage  the  day  after  to-morrow; 
the  documents  are  all  ready,  and  in  the  course  of  to- 
morrow the  licence  can  be  procured.  In  the  meantime, 
you  must  despatch  him  to-night." 

11  What  do  you  mean,  Sir  Robert  1" 

i(  I  say  you  must  send  him  about  his  business.  In  point 
of  fact,  I  think  the  fellow  knows  that  he  is  discovered,  and 
it  is  not  unlikely  that  he  may  make  an  effort  to  carry  off 
your  daughter  this  very  night." 

"  But,  Sir  Robert,  can  we  not  seize  him  and  surrender 
him  to  the  authorities  1     Is  he  not  an  outlaw  ?" 

"  Unfortunately,  Mr.  Folliard,  he  is  not  an  outlaw ;  I 
stretched  a  little  too  far  there.  It  is  true,  I  got  his  name 
put  into  the  Hue-and-Cry,  but  upon  representations  which  I 
cannot  prove." 

"  And  why  did  you  do  so,  Sir  Robert  V 

T 


290  WILLY   REILLY. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Folliard,  to  save  your  daughter." 

The  old  man  paused. 

"Ah."  he  exclaimed,  "that  is  a  bad  business — I  mean 
for  you,  Sir  Robert  \  but  we  will  talk  it  over.  You  shall 
stop  and  dine  with  me ;  I  want  some  one  to  talk  with — 
some  one  who  will  support  me  and  keep  me  in  spirits ;" 
and,  as  he  spoke,  he  sobbed  bitterly.  "I  wish  to  G-od,"  he 
exclaimed,  "that  neither  I  nor  Helen — my  dear  Helen — 
had  ever  seen  that  fellow's  face.  You  will  dine  with  me, 
Bob  V 

"  I  will,  upon  the  strict  condition,  that  you  keep  your- 
self quiet,  and  won't  seem  to  understand  anything/' 

"  Would  you  recommend  me  to  lock  her  up  T 

"By  no  means;  that  would  only  make  matters  worse. 
I  shall  dine  with  you ;  but  you  must  be  calm  and  quiet, 
and  not  seem  to  entertain  any  suspicions." 

"  Very  well,  I  shall ;  but  what  has  become  of  our  lunch  % 
Touch  the  bell." 

This  hint  sent  Lanigan  down  stairs,  who  met  the  butler 
coining  up  with  it. 

"Why,  Pat/'  said  he,'" what  kept  you  so  long  with  the 
lunch  %" 

"  I  was  just  thinking,"  replied  Pat,  "  how  it  would  be 
possible  to  poison  that  ugly,  ill-made,  long-legged  scoun- 
drel, without  poisoning  my  master.  What's  to  be  done, 
Lanigan  1  He  will  marry  this  darlin'  in  spite  of  us.  And 
sure,  now  we  have  our  privileges  once  more,  since  this 
great  Earl  came  to  rule  over  us ;  and  sure,  they  say,  he's 
a  greater  gentleman  than  the  king  himself.  All  I  can  say 
is,  that  if  this  same  Sir  Robert  forces  the  Cooleen  Bawn  to 
such  an  unnatural  marriage,  Til  try  a  dose,  hit  or  miss  for 
a  cowheel  anyway." 

Lanigan  laughed,  and  the  butler  passed  on  with  the  lunca. 

We  may  state  here,  that  the  Squire,  notwithstanding  his 
outspoken  manner  against  Popery,  like  a  terrible  reverend 
baronet  not  long  deceased,  who,  notwithstanding  his  dis- 
covery of  the  most  awful  Popish  plots,  and  notwithstand- 
ing the  most  extravagant  denunciations  against  Popery, 
like  him,  we  say,  the  old  Squire  seldom  had  more  than 
one  or  two  Protestant  servants  under  his  roof.  Pat  hated 
Longshanks,  as  he  termed  him,  as  did  all  the  household  ; 


WILLY  REILLY.  291 

which,  indeed,  was  very  natural,  as  he  was  such  a  notorious 
persecutor  of  their  religion  and  their  clergy. 

Lanigan  lost  no  time  in  acquainting  Reilly  with  what  he 
had  heard,  and  the  heart  of  the  latter  palpitated  with  alarm 
on  hearing  that  the  next  day  but  one  was  likely  to  join 
his  Cooleen  Bawn,  by  violent  and  unnatural  proceedings,  to 
the  man  whom  she  so  much  detested.  He  felt  that  it  was 
now  time  to  act,  in  order  to  save  her.  Arrangements  were 
consequently  made  between  them,  as  to  the  time  and 
manner  of  their  escape ;  and  those  arrangements,  together 
with  the  dialogue  he  had  overheard,  Lanigan  communicated 
to  the  Cooleen  Bavm. 

The  Squire  on  that  day  experienced  strange  alternations 
of  feeling.  His  spirits  seemed  to  rise  and  sink,  as  the 
quicksilver  in  the  glass  is  affected  by  the  state  of  the 
atmosphere.  He  looked  into  the  future  with  terror,  and 
again  became,  to  the  astonishment  of  his  guest — we  now 
talk  of  their  conduct  after  dinner — actuated  by  some 
thought  or  impulse,  that  put  him  into  high  spirits.  White- 
craft,  cool  and  cautious,  resolved  to  let  him  have  his  way ; 
for  the  Squire  was  drinking  deeply,  and  tie  Burgundy  was 
good  and  strong. 

"  Bob,  my  boy,"  said  he,  "you  don't  drink,  and  that  is  a 
bad  sign.  You  have  either  a  bad  head  of  late,  or  a  bad 
heart,  which  is  worse.  Hang  you,  sir,  why  don't  you 
drink  ?  I  have  seen  you  lay  lots  of  my  guests  under  the 
table,  when  you  were  quite  cool ;  but  now,  what  are  you 
at  ?  They  can't  run  away  to-night.  Helen  doesn't  know 
that  the  discovery  has  been  made.  And  now,  Bob,  you 
dog,  listen  to  me,  I  say — would  you  have  had  the  manliness 
and  courage  to  expose  yourself  for  the  sake  of  a  pretty  girl 
as  he  did  1 — that  is — here's  a  bumper  to  Helen !  Curse 
you,  will  nothing  make  you  drink'?  No,  faith,  he  hadn't 
seen  Helen  at  the  time;  it  was  for  a  worthless  old  fellow- 
like  me  that  he  exposed  himself ;  but  no  matter,  you  may 
be  right ;  perhaps  it  teas  a  plot  to  get  acquainted  with  her. 
Still,  I'm  not  sure  of  that;  but  if  it  was,  I'll  make  him 
smart." 

After  dinner  the  Squire  drank  deeply — so  deeply,  indeed, 
that  Whitecraft  was  obliged  to  call  up  some  of  the  male 
servants  to  carry  him  to  his  chamber  and  put  him  to  bed. 


292  WILLY   REILLY. 

In  this  task  Lanigan  assisted,  and  thanked  his  stars  that 
he  was  incapacitated  from  watching  the  lovers,  or  taking 
any  means  to  prevent  their  escape.  As  for  Whitecraft, 
thought  he,  I  will  soon  send  him  about  his  business.  Now 
this  gentleman's  suspicions  were  the  more  deeply  excited, 
in  consequence  of  Helen's  refusal  to  meet  him  at  either 
lunch  or  dinner;  a  refusal  which  she  gave  on  the  plea  of 
indisposition.  He  had,  therefore,  made  up  his  mind  to 
watch  the  motions  of  Cooleen  Baton,  and  he  would  have 
included  Reilly  in  his  surveillance,  were  it  not  that  Lanigan 
informed  him  of  what  he  termed  the  mysterious  disappear- 
ance of  the  under-gardener. 

"What!"  exclaimed  Whitecraft,  "  is  he  gone?" 

"He  is  gone,  Sir  Eobert,  and  left  his  week's  wages 
behind  him,  for  he  never  came  to  the  steward  to  ask  it. 
And  now,  Sir  Eobert,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I'm  not  sorry 
he's  gone ;  he  was  a  disagreeable  old  fellow,  that  nobody 
could  make  either  head  or  tail  of;  but,  Sir  Robert,  listen — 
wait,  sir,  till  I  shut  the  door — it  will  soon  be  gettin'  dusk ; 
you  know  you're  not  liked  in  the  country,  and  now  that  we 
— I  mean  the  Catholics — have  the  countenance  of  Govern- 
ment, I  think  that  riding  late  won't  be  for  your  health. 
The  night  air,  you  know,  isn't  wholesome  to  some  people. 
I  am  merely  givin'  you  a  hint,  Sir  Robert,  bekaise  you  are 
a  friend  of  my  masther's,  and  I  hope  for  your  own  sake 
you'll  take  it.  The  sooner  you  mount  your  horse  the 
better ;  and  if  you  be  guided  by  me,  you'll  try  and  reach 
your  own  house  before  the  darkness  sets  in.  Who  knows 
what  Reilly  may  be  plotting1?  You  know  he  doesn't  like 
a  bone  in  your  honour's  skin ;  and  the  Reillys  are  cruel 
and  desperate." 

"But,  Lanigan,  are  you  aware  of  any  plot  or  conspiracy 
that  has  been  got  up  against  my  life1?" 

"  Not  at  all,  your  honour  ;  but  I  put  it  to  yourself,  sir, 
whether  you  don't  feel  that  I'm  speaking  truth." 

"  I  certainly  know  very  well,"  replied  the  baronet,  "  that 
I  am  exceedingly  unpopular  with  the  Popish  party ;  but, 
in  my  conduct  towards  them,  I  only  carried  out  the  laws 
that  had  been  passed  against  them." 

"  I  know  that,  Sir  Robert,  and,  as  a  Catholic,  I  am  sorry 
that  you  and  others  were  supported  and  egged  on  by- such 


WILLY  REILLY.  203 

Laws.  Why,  sir,  a  hangman  could  give  the  same  excuse, 
because  if  he  put  a  rope  aboub  your  neck,  and  tied  his 
cursed  knot  nately  under  your  left  ear,  what  was  he  doin' 
but  fulfiliin'  the  law  as  you  did  1  And  now,  Sir  Robert, 
who  would  shake  hands  with  a  hangman,  unless  some 
unfortunate  highway  robber  or  murderer,  that  gives  him 
his  hand  because  he  knows  that  he  will  never  see  his  puroy 
face  agin.  This  discourse  is  all  folly,  however — you 
haven't  a  minute  to  loss — shall  I  order  your  horse  f 

"  Yes,  you  had  better,  Lanigan,"  replied  the  other,  with 
a  dogged  appearance  of  cowardice  and  revenge.  He  could 
not  forgive  Lanigan  the  illustration  that  involved  the  com- 
parison of  the  hangman ;  still  his  conscience  and  his  cow- 
ardice both  whispered  to  him  that  the  cook  was  in  the  right. 

This  night  was  an  eventful  one.  The  course  of  our  nar- 
rative brings  us  and  our  readers  to  the  house  of  Captain 
Smellpriest,  who  had  for  his  next  door  neighbour  the  stal- 
wart curate  of  the  parish,  the  Rev.  Samson  Strong,  to 
whom  some  allusion  has  been  already  made  in  those  pages. 
Now  the  difference  between  Smellpriest  and  Whitecraft  was 
this — Smellpriest  was  not  a  magistrate,  as  Whitecraft  was, 
and  in  his  priest-hunting  expeditions  only  acted  upon 
warrants  issued  by  some  bigoted  and  persecuting  magis- 
trate, or  other,  who  lived  in  the  district.  But  as  hif 
propensity  to  hunt  those  unfortunate  persons  was  known, 
the  execution  of  the  warrants  was  almost  in  every  instance 
entrusted  to  his  hands.  It  was  not  so  with  Sir  Robert* 
who,  being  himself  a  magistrate,  might  be  said  to  have 
been  in  the  position  at  once  of  judge  and  executioner.  At 
all  events,  the  race  of  blood  was  pretty  equal  between 
tbem,  so  far  as  the  clergy  was  concerned;  but,  in  general 
enmity  to  the  Catholic  community  at  large,  Whitecraft  was 
far  more  cruel  and  comprehensive  in  his  vengeance.  It  is, 
indeed,  an  observation  founded  upon  truth  and  experience, 
that  in  all  creeds,  in  proportion  to  his  ignorance  and 
bigotry,  so  is  the  violence  of  the  persecutor.  Whitecraft, 
the  self-constituted  champion  of  Protestantism,  had  about 
as  much  religion  as  Satan  himself — or,  indeed,  less,  for  we 
are  told  that  he  believes  and  trembles,  while  Whitecraft, 
on  the  contrary,  neither  believed  nor  trembled.     But  if  ue 


294  WILLY   RETLLY. 

did  not  fear  God,  he  certainly  feared  man,  and  on  the  night 
in  question  went  home  with  as  craven  a  heart — thanks  to 
Lanigan — as  ever  beat  in  a  coward's  bosom.  Smell  priest, 
however,  differed  from  Whitecrafb  in  many  points  ;  he  was 
brave,  though  cruel ;  and  addicted  to  deep  potations. 
Whitecraft,  it  is  true,  drank  more< deeply  still  than  he  did; 
but,  by  some  idiosyncracy  of  stomach  or  constitution,  it 
had  no  more  effect  upon  him  than  it  had  upon  the  cask 
from  which  it  had  been  drawn,  unless,  indeed,  to  reduce 
him  to  greater  sobriety  and  sharpen  his  prejudices. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  the  Rev.  Samson  Strong  made  his  ap- 
pearance in  Smellpriest's  house,  with  a  warrant,  or  some- 
thing in  the  shape  of  one,  which  he  placed  in  the  gallant 
captain's  hands,  who  was  drunk. 

"  What's  this,  oh,  Samson  the  Strong  T  said  Smellpriest, 
laughing  and  hiccuping  both  at  the  same  time. 

"  It's  a  hunt,  my  dear  friend.  One  of  those  priests  of 
Baal  has  united,  in  unholy  bands,  a  Protestant  subject  with 
a  subject  of  the  harlot  of  abominations." 

"  Samson,  my  buck/'  said  Smellpriest,  "  I  hope  this  Popish 
priest  of  yours  will  not  turn  out  to  be  a  wild-goose.  You 
know  you  have  sent  me  upon  many  a  wild-goose  chase 
before  ;  in—- in — in  fact,  you  nev— -never  sent  me  upon  any 
other.  You're  a  blockhead,  oh,  divine  Samson;  and  that — 
that  thick  head  of  yours  would  flatten  a  cannon-ball.  But 
jvhat  is  it  ? — an  intermarriage  between  the  two  P's — Popish 
and  Protestant." 

"My  dear,"  said  his  wife,  "you  must  be  aware  that  the 
Popishers  have  only  got  liberty  to  clatter  their  beads  in 
public;  but  not  to  marry  a  Popisher  to  a  Protestanter. 
This  is  a  glorious  opportunity  for  you  to  come  home  with 
a  feather  in  your  cap,  my  dear.  Has  he  far  to  go,  Mr. 
Strong  ?  because  he  never  goes  out  after  the  Hack  game,  as 
you  call  them,  sir,  that  I  don't  feel  as  if  I — but  I  can't 
express  what  I  feel  at  his  dear  absence." 

Now,  we  have  said  that  Smellpriest  was  drunk,  which,  in 
point  of  fact,  was  true ;  but  not  so  drunk  but  that  he  ob- 
served some  intelligent  glances  pass  between  his  wife  and 
the  broad-shouldered  curate. 

"  No,  Madam  ;  only  about  two  miles.  Smellpriest,  you 
know  Jack  Houlaghan's  stripe?" 


WILLY  REILLY.  295 

"  Yes — I  know  Jack  Houlaghan's  stripe,  in  Kilrudden." 
"  Well,  when  you  get  to  the  centre  of  the  stripe,  look  a 
little  to  your  right,  and — as  the  night  is  light  enough — you 
will  see  a  house — a  cottage,  rather ;  to  this  cottage  bring 
your  men,  and  there  you  will  find  your  game.  I  would  not, 
Captain,  under  other  circumstances  advise  you  to  recruit 
your  spirits  with  an  additional  glass  or  two  of  liquor ;  but, 
as  the  night  is  cold,  I  really  do  recommend  you  to  fortify 
yourself  with  a  little  refreshment." 

He  was  easily  induced  to  do  so,  and  he  accordingly  took 
a  couple  of  glasses  of  punch,  and  when  about  to  mount  his 
horse,  it  was  found  that  he  could  not  do  so,  without  the 
assistance  of  his  men  who  were  on  duty,  in  all  about  six, 
every  one  of  whom,  as  well  as  the  captain  himself,  was 
well  armed.  It  is  unnecessary  to  state  to  the  reader  that 
the  pursuit  was  a  vain  one.  They  searched  the  house  to 
no  purpose ;  neither  priest  nor  friar  was  there,  and  he,  con- 
sequently, had  the  satisfaction  of  performing  another  wild- 
goose  chase  with  his  usual  success,  whenever  the  Eev. 
Samson  Strong  sent  him  in  pursuit.  In  the  meantime  the 
moon  went  down,  and  the  night  became  exceedingly  dark; 
but  the  captain's  spirits  were  high  and  boisterous,  so  much 
so,  that  they  began  to  put  themselves  forth  in  song;  the 
song  in  question  being  the  once  celebrated  satire  upon 
James  the  Second  and  Tyrconnell,  called,  "  Liilibullero," 
now  "the  Protestant  Boys."  How  this  song  gained  so 
much  popularity  it  is  difficult  to  guess,  for  we  are  bound  to 
say,  that  a  more  pointless  and  stupid  production  never 
came  from  the  brain  of  man.  Be  this  as  it  may,  we  must 
leave  the  gallant  captain  and  his  gaug  singing  it  in  full 
chorus,  ancj,  request  our  readers  to  accompany  us  to  another 
locality. 

The  sheriff  had  now  recovered  from  a  dreadful  attack  of 
the  prevailing  epidemic,  and  was  able  to  resume  his  duties. 
1ft  the  meantime,  he  had  heard  of  the  change  which  had 
taken  place  in  the  administration  of  affairs,  at  head-quar- 
ters— a  change  at  which  he  f^lt  no  regret,  but  rather,  a 
good  deal  of  satisfaction,  as  it  relieved  him  from  the 
performance  of  very  disagreeable  and  invidious  duties,  and 
the  execution  of  many  severe  and  inhuman  laws.     He  was 


295  WILLY  REILLY. 

dow  looking  over  and  signing  some  papers,  when  he  rang 
the  bell,  and  a  servant  entered. 

"Tom,"  said  he,  "there  is  an  old  man,  a  poor  mendicant, 
to  call  here,  who  was  once  a  servant  in  our  family ;  when 
he  comes  show  him  into  the  office.  I  expect  some  impor- 
tant family  information  from  him  respecting  the  property 
which  we  are  disputing  about  in  the  Court  of  Chancery." 

"Very  well,  sir,"  replied  the  servant,  "  I  shall  do  so." 

This  occurred  on  the  day  of  Whitecraft's  visit  to  Squire 
Folliard,  and  it  was  on  the  evening  of  the  same  that  Smell- 
priest  was  sent  upon  the  usual  chase,  on  the  information 
of  the  Rev.  Samson  Strong;  so  that  the  events  to  which 
we  have  alluded  occurred,  as  if  by  some  secret  relation  to 
each  other,  on  the  same  day. 

At  length  our  friend  Fergus  entered  the  office,  in  his 
usual  garb  of  an  aged  and  confirmed  mendicant. 

"  Well,  Reilly,"  said  the  sheriff,  "  I  am  glad  you  have 
come.  I  could  have  taken  up  this  ruffian,  this  Red  Rap- 
paree,  as  he  is  properly  called,  upon  suspicion;  but  that 
would  have  occasioned  delay;  and  it  is  my  object  to  lodge 
him  in  gaol  this  night,  so  as  to  give  him  no  chance  of  es- 
cape unless  he  breaks  prison ;  but  in  order  to  prevent  that, 
I  shall  give  strict  injunctions,  in  consequence  of  the  danger 
to  be  apprehended  from  so  powerful  and  desperate  a 
character,  that  he  be  kept  in  strong  irons." 

"  If  it  be  within  the  strength  of  man,  sir,  to  break  prison, 
he  will ;  he  done  it  twice  before ;  and  he's  under  the 
notion  that  he  never  was  born  to  be  hanged;  some  of  the 
ould  prophecy  men,  and  Mary  Mahon,  it  seems  tould  him 
so." 

"In  the  meantime,  Reilly,  we  shall  test  the  truth  of 
such  prophecies.  But  listen.  What  is  your  wish  that  I 
should  do  for  you,  in  addition  to  what  I  have  already  done  ] 
You  know  what  I  have  promised  you,  and  that  for  some 
time  past,  and  that  I  have  the  Secretary's  letter  stating 
that  you  are  free,  and  have  to  dread  neither  arrest  nor 
punishment;  but  that  is  upon  the  condition  that  you  shall 
give  all  the  evidence  against  this  man  that  you  are  pos- 
sessed of.  In  that  case  the  Government  will  also  bounti- 
fully reward  you,  besides." 

"The  Government  need  not  think  of  any  such  thing, 


WILLY   REILLY.  297 

your  honour,"  replied  Reilly  ;  "  a  penny  of  Government; 
money  will  never  cross  my  pocket.  It  isn't  for  any  reward 
I  come  against  this  man,  but  because  he  joined  the  blood- 
hounds of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  against  his  own  priests 
and  his  own  religion ;  or  at  laste  against  the  religion  he 
professed,  for  I  don't  think  he  ever  had  any." 

"  Well,  then,  I  can  make  you  one  of  my  officers."   . 

"  Is  if  to  go  among  the  poor  and  distressed,  sir,  and  help, 
maybe,  to  take  the  bed  from  undher  the  sick  father  or  the 
sick  mother,  and  to  leave  them  without  a  stick  undher  the 
ould  roof  or  naked  walls?  No,  sir;  sooner  than  do  that 
I'd  take  to  the  highway  once  more,  and  rob  like  a  man  in 
the  face  of  danger.  That  I  may  never  see  to-morrow,"  he 
proceeded  with  vehemence,  "but  I'd  rather  rob  ten  rich 
men  than  harish  one  poor  family.  It  was  that  work  that 
druv  me  to  the  coorse  I  left — that  an'  the  persecution  that 
was  upon  us.  Take  my  word,  sir,  that  in  nineteen  cases 
out  of  twenty  it  was  the  laws  themselves,  and  the  poverty 
they  brought  upon  the  country,  that  made  the  robbers." 

"  But  could  you  not  give  evidence  against  some  others 
of  the  gang  V 

"No,  sir;  there  is  not  one  of  them  in  this  part  of  the 
kingdom,  an'  I  believe  the  most  of  them  all  are  out  of  it 
altogether.  But,  even  if  they  were  not,  I,  sir,  am  not  the 
man  to  betray  them;  the  Red  Rapparee  would,  if  he  could 
get  at  them ;  but,  thank  God,  I've  put  every  man  of  them 
beyond  his  reach." 

"  You  did  !  and  pray,  now,  why,  may  I  ask,  did  that 
happen  V 

"Bekaise  it  came  to  my  ears  that  it  was  his  intention  to 
inform  against  them,  and  surrender  them  all  to  the  Govern- 
ment." 

"Well,  Reilly,  after  all,  I  believe  you  to  be  an  honest 
fellow,  even  although  you  were  once  a  robber;  but  the 
question  now  is,  what  is  to  be  done  ?  Are  you  sure  of  his 
whereabouts]," 

"  I  think  so,  sir ;  or,  if  I  am  not,  I  know  one  that  is. 
But  I  have  an  observation  to  make.  You  know,  sir,  I 
would  a'  gone  abroad,  a  free  man  before  this  time,  only 
that  it's  necessary  I  should  still  keep  on  my  disguise,  in 
ordher  that  I  may  move  about  as  I  wish  until  I  secure  this 


298  WILLY   REILLY. 

Red  Rapparee.  After  that,  sir,  please  God,  I'll  taste  a 
mouthful  of  freedom.  In  the  meantime  I  know  one,  as  I 
said,  that  will  enable  us  to  make  sure  of  him." 

"Pray,  who  is  that?' 

"  Tom  Steeple,  sir." 

"Do  you  mean  the  poor  fool  of  that  name — or,  rather, 
I  believe,  of  that  nickname  1" 

"I  do,  sir,  and  in  many  things  he's  less  of  a  fool  than 
wiser  men.  He  has  been  dodgin'  him  for  the  last  two  or 
three  days;  and  he's  a  person  that  no  one  would  ever 
suspect,  unless,  indeed,  the  cautious  and  practised  Rap- 
parees ;  but  in  ordher  to  meet  any  such  suspicion,  I  have 
got  upon  the  right  trail  myself — we're  sure  of  him  now,  I 
think." 

"  Well,  Reilly,"  proceeded  the  sheriff,  "  I  leave  the 
management  of  the  capture  of  this  man  to  yourself.  You 
shall  have  a  strong  and  determined  party  to  support  you. 
Do  you  only  show  them  the  man,  and,  take  my  word  for 
it,  they  will  secure  the  robber.  After  this  affair  is  over, 
you  must  throw  off  those  rags.  I  will  furnish  you  with 
decent  clothes ;  and  you  can  go  out  at  large  without  fear 
or  risk,  and  that  under  your  own  name  too.  I  took  your 
hint,  and  declined  swearing  the  informations  against  him 
before  the  old  Squire,  as  I  had  intended,  from  an  appre- 
hension that  he  might  possibly  blab  the  fact  to  Whitecraft, 
who,  if  your  information  be  correct,  would  have  given  him 
notice  to  fly,  or  otherwise  concealed  him  from  justice." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Reilly,  "it's  my  opinion  that  the  Eap- 
paree will  lodge  in  Sligo  gaol  before  to-morrow  mornin' ; 
and  it's  a  thousand  pities  that  Whitecraft  shouldn't  be  sent 
there  to  keep  him  company." 

"  He  certainly  is  the  most  unpopular  man  living.  In 
the  exuberance  of  his  loyalty,  he  has  contrived  to  offeud 
almost  every  liberal  Protestant  in  the  county,  and  that 
with  an  unjustifiable  degree  of  wanton  and  overbearing 
insolence,  arising  from  his  consciousness  of  impunity.  How- 
ever, thank  God,  his  day  is  gone  by.  But  mark  me,  Reilly 
— I  had  almost  forgotten — don't  neglect  to  secure  the 
clothes  in  which  the  villain  robbed  me ;  they  will  be  im- 
portant." 

"I  had  no  intention  of  forgetting  them,  sir;  and  that 


WILLY   REILLY.  299 

scheme  for  throwing  the  guilt  of  his  own  villany  on  Mr. 
Reilly  is  another  reason  why  I  appear  against  him." 

It  was  not,  indeed,  very  easy  for  the  Rapparee  to  escape. 
Whitecraf t  got  home  safe,  a  little  before  dusk,  after  putting 
his  unfortunate  horse  to  more  than  his  natural  speed.  On 
his  arrival,  he  ordered  wine  to  be  brought,  and  sat  down  to 
meditate  upon  the  most  feasible  plan  for  reinstating  himself 
in  the  good  graces  of  the  new  Government.  After  ponder- 
ing over  many  speculations  to  that  effect,  it  occurred  to  him 
that  to  secure  the  Rapparee,  now  that  he  could,  as  an  agent 
and  a  guide,  be  of  no  further  use  to  him,  was  the  most 
likely  procedure  to  effect  his  purpose.  He  accordingly  rang 
for  his  usual  attendant,  and  asked  him  if  he  knew  where 
O'Donnel  was.  The  man  replied  that  he  was  generally  in 
or  about  Mary  Mahon's. 

"  Then,"  proceeded  his  master,  "  let  him  be  with  me  to- 
morrow morning,  at  eleven  o'clock." 

"If  I  see  him,  sir,  I  shall  tell  him." 

"  And  say  that  I  have  something  to  his  advantage  to 
mention  to  him." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  shan't  forget  it." 

"  Nov/,"  said  he,  after  the  servant  had  withdrawn,  and 
taking  a  bumper  of  wine  "  I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  I  feel 
very  uncomfortable  somehow.  I  certainly  did  not  expect  a 
change  in  the  Administration,  nor  a  relaxation  in  the  carry- 
ing out  of  the  laws  against  Papists ;  and,  under  this  impres- 
sion, I  fear  I  have  gone  too  far,  and  that  I  may  be  brought 
over  the  coals  for  my  conduct.  I  understand  that  the  old 
French  Abbi  is  returned,  and  once  more  a  resident  in  the 
family  of  that  cursed  Marquis.  I  think,  by  the  way,  I 
should  go  and  apologise  to  both  the  Marquis  and  the  Abh6, 
and  throw  the  blame  of  my  own  violence  upon  the  conduct 
and  instructions  of  the  last  Government;  that,  and  the 
giving  up  of  this  ruffianly  Rapparee  to  the  present,  may  do 
something  for  me.  This  country,  however,  now  that 
matters  have  taken  such  an  unexpected  turn,  shall  not  long 
be  my  place  of  residence.  As  for  Reilly,  my  marriage  on 
the  day  after  to-morrow  with  that  stubborn  beauty,  Helen 
Folliard,  will  place  an  impassable  barrier  between  him  and 
her.  I  am  glad  he  has  escaped,  for  he  will  not  be  in  our 
way,  and  we  shall  start  for  my  English  estates  immediately 


300  WILLY   KEILLY. 

after  the  ceremony.  To-morrow,  however,  I  shall  secure 
the  "Rapparee,  and  hand  him  over  to  the  authorities,  I 
could  have  wished  to  hang  Reilly,  but  now  it  is  impossible ; 
still  we  shall  start  for  England  immediately  after  the 
nuptial  knob  is  tied,  for  I  don't  think  I  could  consider 
myself  safe,  now  that  he  is  at  large,  and  at  liberty  to 
appear  in  his  proper  name  and  person ;  especially  afcer  all 
the  mischief  I  have  done  him,  in  addition  to  the  fact  of  my 
bearing  away  his  Cooleen  Bawn,  as  she  is  called." 

In  fact,  the  man's  mind  was  a  turbid  chaos  of  reflections 
upon  the  past  and  the  future,  in  which  selfishness,  disap- 
pointed vengeance,  terror,  hypocritical  policy,  and  every 
feeling  that  could  fill  the  imagination  of  a  man  possessed  of 
a  vacillating,  cowardly,  and  cruel  heart,  with  the  exception 
only  of  anything  that  could  border  upon  penitence  or 
remorse.  That  Miss  Folliard  was  not  indifferent  to  him  is 
true;  but  the  feeling  which  he  experienced  towards  her 
contained  only  two  elements — sensuality  and  avarice.  Of 
love,  in  its  purest,  highest,  and  holiest  sense,  he  was  utterly 
incapable ;  and  he  was  not  ignorant  himself,  that  in  the 
foul  attachment  which  he  bore  her,  he  was  only  carrying 
into  effect  the  principles  of  his  previous  life — those  of  a 
private  debauchee  and  a  miser. 

That  amiable,  but  unhappy  and  distracted  lady,  spent 
that  whole  evening  in  making  preparations  for  ber  flight 
with  Reilly.  Her  manner  was  wild  and  excited ;  indeed 
so  much  so,  that  the  presence  of  mind  and  cool  good  sense, 
for  which  her  maid  Connor  was  remarkable,  were  scarcely 
sufficient  to  guide  and  direct  her  in  this  distressing 
emergency.  She  seemed  to  be  absorbed  by  bub  one 
thought,  and  that  was  of  her  father.  His  affection  for  her 
enlarged  and  expanded  itself  in  her  loving  heart,  with  a 
force  and  tenderness  that  nearly  drove  her  into  delirium. 
Connor,  in  the  meantime,  got  all  things  ready,  she  herself 
having  entrusted  the  management  of  everything  to  her. 
The  unhappy  girl  paced  to  and  fro  her  room,  sobbing 
and  weepiDg  bitterly,  wringing  her  hands,  and  exclaiming 
from  time  to  time — 

"  Oh,  my  father  !  my  dear  and  loving  lather !  is  this  the 
return  I  am  making  you  for  your  tenderness  and  affection  1 
What  am  I  about  to  do  %  what  steps  am  I  going  to  take  1    To 


WILLY   REILLY.  301 

leave  you  desolate,  with  uo  heart  for  yours  to  repose  upon ! 
Alas !  there  was  but  one  heart  that  you  cared  for,  and  in 
the  duty  and  affection  of  that,  all  your  hopes  for  my  happi- 
ness lay ;  and  now  when  you  awake,  you  will  Sad  that  that 
heart,  the  very  heart  on  which  you  rested,  has  deserted 
you  !  When  you  come  down  to  breakfast  in  the  morning, 
and  find  that  your  own  Helen,  your  only  one,  has  gone — 
oh !  who  will  sustain,  or  soothe,  or  calm  you  in  the  frenzied 
grief  of  your  desolation  ?  But,  alas  !  what  can  I  do,  but 
escape  from  that  cowardly  and  vindictive  villain — the  very 
incarnation  of  oppression  and  persecution  :  the  hypocrite, 
the  secret  debauchee,  the  mean,  the  dastardly;  whose 
inhuman  ambition  was  based  upon  and  nurtured  by  blood? 
Alas!  I  have  but  the  one  remedy — flight  with  my  noble- 
minded  lover,  whom  that  dastardly  villain  would  have 
hunted,  even  to  his  murder,  or  an  ignominious  death,  which 
would  have  been  worse.  This  flight  is  not  spontaneously 
mine ;  I  am  forced  to  it ;  and  of  two  evils  I  will  choose  the 
least ;  surely  I  am  not  bound  to  seal  my  own  misery  for 
ever." 

Connor  had  by  this  time  attempted,  as  far  as  she  could, 
to  disguise  her  in  one  of  her  own  dresses ;  but  nothing 
could  conceal  the  elegance  and  exquisite  proportion  of  her 
figure,  nor  the  ladylike  harmony  and  grace  of  her  motions. 
She  then  went  to  the  oaken  cabinet,  mentioned  by  her 
father  in  the  opening  of  our  narrative,  and  as  she  always 
had  the  key  of  that  portion  of  it  which  contained  her  own 
diamonds,  and  other  property,  she  took  a  casket  of  jewels 
of  immense  value  from  it,  and  returned  to  her  room,  where 
she  found  Connor  before  her. 

"  Mr.  Eeilly  is  ready,  Miss,"  she  said,  "  and  is  waiting 
for  you  behind  the  garden ;  the  only  one  I  dread  in  the 
house  is  Andy  Cummiskey ;  he  is  so  much  attached  to  the 
master,  that  I  think  if  he  knew  you  were  about  to  escape, 
he  would  tell  him." 

"  Well,  Connor,  we  must  only  avoid  him  as  well  as  we 
can ;  but  where,  or  how,  shall  I  carry  those  jewels  ?  In 
these  slight  pockets  of  yours,  Connor,  they  could  not  be  safe." 

"Well,  then,  can't  you  give  them  to  him  to  keep,  and 
they'll  be  safe?" 

"True,  Connor;  so  they  will;  but  I  give  him  a  heart 


302  WILLY  REILLY. 

which  he  prizes   above  them  all.     But,  alas !    my  father  ! 
oh  !  how,  Connor,  shall  I  abandon  him  V 

"  Do  not  distress  yourself,  my  dear  Miss  Folliard ;  your 
father  loves  you  too  much  to  hold  out  his  anger  against 
you  long.  Did  you  not  tell  me  that,  if  Eeilly  was  a  Pro- 
testant, your  father  said  he  would  rather  marry  you  to  him 
than  to  Sir  Eobert,  the  villain,  with  all  his  wealth  V* 

"I  did,  Connor,  and  my  father  certainly  said  so;  but 
the  serpent,  Connor,  entwined  himself  about  the  poor 
credulous  man,  and  succeeded  in  embittering  him  against 
Eeilly,  who  would  rather  go  to  the  scaffold — yes.  and — 
which  he  would  consider  a  greater  sacrifice — rather  aban- 
don even  me  than  his  religion.  And  do  you  think,  Connor, 
that  I  do  not  love  my  noble-minded  Eeilly  the  more  deeply 
for  this?  I  tell  you,  Connor,  that  if  he  renouuced  his 
religion  upon  no  other  principle  than  his  love  for  me,  I 
should  despise  him  as  a  dishonourable  man,  to  whom  it 
would  not  be  safe  for  me  to  entrust  my  happiness." 

"  Well,  well ;  but  now  it  is  time  to  start,  and  E,eilty,  as 
I  said,  is  waiting  for  you  behind  the  garden." 

"  Oh,  Connor,  and  is  it  come  to  this  %  My  dear  papa ! 
but  I  cannot  go  until  I  see  him ;  no,  Connor,  I  could  not ; 
I  shall  go  quietly  into  his  room,  and  take  one  look  at  him ; 
probably  it  may  be  the  last.  Oh,  my  God !  what  am  I 
about  to  do !  Connor,  keep  this  casket  until  I  return;  I 
shall  not  be  long." 

She  then  went  to  his  chamber ;  the  blinds  and  curtains 
of  the  windows  had  not  been  drawn,  and  it  occurred  to 
her,  that  as  her  dress  was  so  different  from  any  which  her 
father  had  ever  seen  on  her,  some  suspicion  might  be 
created,  should  he  observe  it.  She,  therefore,  left  the 
candlestick  which  she  had  brought  with  her,  on  the  inside 
sill  of  a  lobby  window ;  having  observed  at  the  door  that 
the  moonlight  streamed  in  through  the  windows  upon  his  bed. 
Judge  of  her  consternation,  however,  when,  on  entering  the 
room,  her  father,  turning  himself  in  the  bed,  asked — 

"Is  that  Helen]" 

"  It  is,  papa ;  I  thought  you  had  been  asleep,  and  I  came 
up  to  steal  my  good-night  kiss,  without  any  intention  of 
awakening  you." 

"I  drank  too  much,  Helen,  with  Whitecraft,  whom  wine 


WILLY   REILLY.  303 

— uiy  Burgundy — instead  of  warming,  seems  to  turn  into 
an  icicle.  However,  he  is  a  devilish  shrewd  fellow ;  Helen, 
darling,  there's  a  jug  of  water  on  the  table  there,  will  you 
hand  it  to  me  ?     I'm  all  in  a  flame  and  a  fever." 

She  did  so,  and  her  hand  trembled  so  much  that  she  was 
near  spilling  it.  He  took  a  long  draught,  after  which  he 
smacked  his  lips,  and  seemed  to  breathe  more  freely. 

"  Helen,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  dear  papa." 

"  Helen,  I  had  something  to  mention  to  you,  but " 

"Don't  disturb  yourself  to-night,  papa;  you  are  some- 
what feverish,"  she  added,  feeling  hispuise;  "if  you  will 
excuse  me,  papa,  I  think  you  drank  too  much,  your  pulse  is 
very  quick ;  if  you  could  fall  into  rest  again,  it  would  be 
better  for  you." 

"  Yes,  it  would ;  but  my  mind  is  uneasy  and  sorrowful. 
Helen,  I  thought  you  loved  me,  my  darling." 

"Oh,  could  you  doubt  it,  papa?  You  see  I  am  come  as 
usual — no,  not  as  usual,  either — to  kiss  you ;  I  will  place 
my  cheek  against  yours,  as  I  used  to  do,  dear  papa,  and  you 
will  allow  me  to  weep — to  weep — and  to  say  that  never 
father  deserved  the  iove  of  a  daughter  as  you  have  deserved 
mine;  and  never  did  daughter  love  an  affectionate  and 
indulgent  father  more  tenderly  than  your  Cooleen  Bawn 
does  you." 

"  I  know  it,  Helen,  I  know  it ;  your  whole  life  has  been 
a  proof  of  it,  and  will  be  a  proof  of  it ;  I  know  you  have  no 
other  object  in  this  world  than  to  make  papa  happy ;  I 
know,  I  feel  that  you  are  great- minded  enough  to  sacrifice 
everything  to  that." 

"  Well  but,  papa,"  she  continued,  "  for  all  my  former 
offences  against  you  will  you  pity  and  forgive  me  V 

"  I  do  both,  you  foolish  darling ;  but  what  makes  you 
speak  so  f 

"Because  I  feel  melancholy  to-night,  papa;  and  now, 
papa,  if  ever  I  should  do  anything  wrong,  won't  you  pity 
and  forgive  your  own  Cooleen  Bavm  ?" 

"Get  along,  you  gipsy — don't  be  crying.  What  could 
you  do,  that  papa  wouldn't  forgive  you,  unless  to  run  away 
with  Reilly  1  Don't  you  know  that  you  can  wind  me  round 
vour  finder'?" 


304  WILLY   REILLY. 

"Farewell,  papa,"  she  said,  weeping  all  the  time;  for,  in 
truth,  she  found  it  impossible  to  control  herself;  "farewell 
—good  night !  and  remember  that  you  may  have  a  great 
deal  to  forgive  your  own  Cooleen  Bawn,  some  of  these 
days." 

On  leaving  the  bed-room,  where  she  was  hurried  by  her 
feelings  into  this  indiscreet  dialogue,  she  found  herself 
nearly  incapable  of  walking  without  support.  The  contend- 
ing affections  for  her  father  and  her  lover  had  nearly  over- 
come her.  By  the  aid  of  the  staircase  she  got  to  her  own 
room,  where  she  was  met  by  Connor,  into  whose  arms  she 
fell  almost  helpless. 

"Ah,  Connor,"  she  said — alluding  to  her  father,  whom 
she  could  not  trust  herself  to  name — "  to-morrow  morning 
what  will  become  of  him,  when  he  finds  that  I  am  gone  I 
But  I  know  his  affectionate  heart.  He  will  relent — he  will 
relent  for  the  sake  of  bis  own  Cooleen  Bawn.  The  laws 
against  Catholics  are  now  relaxed,  and  I  am  glad  of  it. 
But  I  have  one  consolation,  my  dear  girl,  that  I  am  trust- 
ing myself  to  a  man  of  honour.  We  will  proceed  direcoiy 
to  the  Continent — that  is,  if  no  calamitous  occurrence 
should  take  place  to  prevent  us ;  and  there,  after  our 
nuptials  shall  have  been  duly  celebrated,  I  will  live  happy 
with  Eeilly — that  is,  Connor,  as  happy  as  absence  from  my 
dear  father  will  permit  me — and  Keilly  will  live  happy, 
and,  at  least,  free  from  the  persecution  of  bad  laws,  and 
such  villains  as  base  and  vindictive  Whitecraft.  You, 
Connor,  must  accompany  me  to  the  back  of  the  garden, 
and  see  me  off.  Take  this  purse,  Connor,  as  some  com- 
pensation for  your  truth  and  the  loss  of  your  situation." 

It  was  now,  when  the  moment  of  separation  approached, 
that  Connor's  tears  began  to  flow,  far  less  at  the  generosity 
of  her  mistress  than  her  affection,  and  that  which  she 
looked  upon  as  probably  their  final  separation. 

"  Dear  Connor,"  said  her  mistress,  "  I  would  expect  that 
support  to  my  breaking  heart  which  I  have  hitherto  ex- 
perienced from  you.  Be  firm,  now ;  for  you  see  i"  am  not 
firm,  and  your  tears  only  render  me  less  adequate  to  en- 
counter the  unknown  vicissitudes  which  lie  before  me." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  be  firm,  my  dear  mistress;  and  I  tell 
you  that  if  there  is  a  God  in  heaven  that  rewards  virtue 


WILLY   REILLY.  305 

and  goodness  like  yours,  you  will  be  happy  yet.  Come, 
now,  he  is  waiting  for  you,  and  the  less  time  we  lose  the 
better.  We  shall  go  out  by  the  back  way — it  is  the 
safest." 

They  accordingly  did  so,  and  had  nearly  reached  the 
back  wall  of  the  garden  when  they  met  Malcomson  and 
Cummiskey,  on  their  way  into  the  kitchen,  in  order  to 
have  a  mug  of  strong  ale  together.  The  two  men,  on 
seeing  the  females  approach,  withdrew  to  the  shelter  of  a 
clump  of  trees ;  but  not  until  they  were  known  by  Connor. 

"  Come,  my  dear  mistress,"  she  whispered,  "there  is  not 
one  second  of  time  to  be  lost.  Cummiskey,  who  is  a 
Catholic,  might  overlook  our  being  here  at  this  hour; 
because,  although  he  is  rather  in  the  light  of  a  friend  than 
a  servant  to  your  father,  still,  he  is  a  friend  to  Reilly,  as 
well ;  but  as  for  that  ugly  Scotchman,  that  is  nothing  but 
bone  and  skin,  I  would  place  no  dependence  whatever  upon 
him." 

We  will  not  describe  the  meeting  between  Eeilly  and 
the  Cooleen  Bawn.  They  had  no  time  to  lose  in  the  tender 
expressions  of  their  feelings.  Each  shook  hands  with,  and 
bid  farewell  to  poor  affectionate  Connor,  who  was  now 
drowned  in  tears;  and  thus  they  set  off,  with  a  view  of 
leaving  the  kingdom,  and  getting  themselves  legally  married 
in  Holland,  where  they  intended  to  reside. 


TJ 


306  WILLY  REILLY. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  RAPPAREE  SECURED — REELLY  AND  THE  COOLEEN  BAWN 
ESCAPE,   AND   ARE   CAPTURED. 

^.UMMISKEY  had  a  private  and  comfortable  room  of 

^  his  own,  to  which  he  and  the  cannie  Scotchman 
proceeded,  after  having  ordered  from  the  butler  a 
tankard  of  strong  ale.  There  was  a  cheerful  fire  iu  the 
grate,  and  when  the  tankard  and  glasses  were  placed  upon 
the  table,  the  Scotchman  observed  : 

"  De'il  be  frae  my  saul,  Maisther  Curnmiskey,  but  ye're 
vara  comfortable  here." 

"  Why,  in  troth,  I  can't  complain,  Mr.  Malcomson ; 
here's  your  health,  sir,  and  after  that  we  must  drink 
another." 

"  Mony  thanks,  Andrew." 

"Hang  it,  I'm  not  Andrew,  that  sounds  like  Scotch: 
I'm  Andy,  man  alive." 

"  "VVeel,  mony  thanks,  Andy ;  but  for  the  maitter  o'  that, 
what  the  de'il  waur  wad  it  be  gin  it  were  Scotch  3 " 

"  Bekaise  I  wouldn't  like  to  be  considered  a  Scotchman, 
somehow." 

"  Weel,  Andrew — Andy — I  do  just  suppose  as  muckle  ; 
gin  ye  war  considered  Scotch,  muckle  more  might  be  ex- 
pecket  frae  you  than,  being  an  Irisher  as  you  are,  you 
could  be  prepared  to  answer  to ;  whereas " 

"Why,  hang  it,  man  alive,  we  can  give  three  answers 
for  your  one." 

"  Weel,  but  how  is  that  now,  Audy  1  Here's  to  ye  in 
the  meantime ;  and  'am  no  sayin'  but  this  yill  is  just  richt 
gude  drink  ;  it  warms  the  pit  o'  the  stamach,  man." 

"  You  mane  by  that,  the  pit  o'  the  stomach,  I  suppose." 

"  Ay,  just  that." 

"  Troth,  Mr.  Malcomson,  you  Scotchers  bring  everything 
to  the  pit  o'  the  stomach — no,  begad,  I  ax  your  pardon,  for 
although  you  take  care  of  the  pratie  bag,  you  don't  forget 
the  pocket." 


WILLY  REILLY.  307 

"And  what  for  no,  Andy?  why  the  de'il  war  pockets 
made,  gin  they  warna  to  be  filled  %  but  how  hae  ye  Irishers 
three  answers  for  our  ane  W 

"Why,  first  with  our  tongue;  and  even  with  that  we 
bate  ye — flog  you  hollow.  You  Scotchmen  take  so  much 
time  in  givin'  an  answer,  that  an  Irishman  could  say  his 
pattherin  aves  before  you  spake.  You  think  first,  and 
spake  aftherwards,  and  come  out  iu  sich  a  way  that  one 
would  suppose  you  say  grace  for  every  word  you  do  spake ; 
but  it  isn't  i  for  what  we  are  to  receive,'  you  ought  to  say 
*  may  the  Lord  make  us  thankful,'  but  for  what  we  are  to 
lose — that  is,  your  Scotch  nonsense;  and,  in  troth,  we 
ought  to  be  thankful  for  losin'  it." 

"  Wee),  man,  here's  to  ye,  Andy — ou,  man,  but  this  yill 
is  extraordinar  gude." 

"Why,"  replied  Andy,  who,  by  the  way,  seldom  went 
sober  to  bed,  and  who  was  even  now  nearly  three  sheets  in 
the  wind,  "it  is,  Mr.  Malcomson,  the  right  stuff.  But,  as  I 
was  sayin',  you  Scotchmen  think  first  and  spake  afther — 
one  of  the  most  unlucky  practices  that  ever  anybody  had. 
Now,  don't  you  see  the  advantage  that  the  Irishman  has 
over  you,  he  spakes  first  and  thinks  aftherwards,  and  then, 
you  know  it  gives  him  plenty  of  time  to  think — here's  God 
bless  us  all,  anyhow — but  that's  the  way  an  Irishman  bates 
a  Scotchman  in  givin'  an  answer ;  for  if  he  fails  by  word  o' 
mouth,  why  whatever  he's  deficient  in  he  makes  up  by  the 
fist  or  cudgel,  and  there's  our  three  Irish  answers  for  one 
Scotch." 

"  Weel,  man,  a'  richt — a'  richt — we  winna  quarrel  about 
it ;  but  I  thocht  ye  promised  to  gie  us  another  toast — de'il 
be  frae  my  saul,  man,  but  I'll  drink  as  mony  as  you  like 
wi'  siccan  liquor  as  this." 

"  Ay,  troth,  I  did  say  so,  and  devil  a  thing  but  your 
Scotch  nonsense  put  it  out  o'  my  head.  And  now,  Mr. 
Malcomson,  let  me  advise  you,  as  a  friend,  never  to  attempt 
to  have  the  whole  conversation  to  yourself;  it  isiSt 
daicent." 

"  Weel,  but  the  toast,  man  ?" 

"  Oh,  ay ;  troth,  your  nonsense  would  put  anything  out  of 
a  man's  head.     Well,  you  see  this  comfortable  room.?" 

"Ou,  ay;  an  vara  comfortable  it  is;  ma  faith,  I  wuss  I 


308  WILLY   REILLY. 

had  ane  like  it.  The  auld  Squire,  however,  talks  o'  buildin' 
a  new  gerden-hoose.5' 

"Well,  then,  fill  your  bumper.  Here's  to  her  that  got 
me  this  room,  and  had  it  furnished  as  you  see,  in  order 
that  I  might  be  at  my  aise  in  it  for  the  remaindher  o'  my 
life — I  mane  the  Cooleen  JBawn — the  Lily  of  the  plains  of 
Boyle.  Come  now,  off  with  it ;  and  if  you  take  it  from 
your  lanthern  jaws  till  it's  finished,  divil  a  wet  lip  ever  I'll 
give  you." 

The  Scotchman  was  not  indisposed  to  honour  the  toast  ; 
first,  because  the  ale  was  both  strong  and  mellow,  and 
secondly,  because  the  Cooleen  Bawn  was  a  great  favourite  of 
his,  in  consequence  of  the  deference  she  paid  to  him  as  a 
botanist. 

"Eh,  sirs,"  he  exclaimed,  after  finishing  his  bumper, 
"  but  she's  a  bonnie  lassie  that,  and  as  gude  as  she's  bonnie — 
and  de'il  a  higher  compliment  she  could  get,  I  think.  But, 
Andy,  man,  don't  they  talk  some  «elash  and  havers  anent 
her  predilection  for  that  weel-f'arrant  callan,  Evilly  1" 

"  Ah,  my  poor  girl,"  replied  Cummiskey,  shaking  his 
head  sorrowfully;  "I  pity  her  there;  but  the  thing's 
impossible — they  can't  be  married — the  law  is  against  them." 

"  Weel,  Andy,  they  must  e'en  thole  it;  but  'am  thinkin' 
they'll  just  break  bounds  at  last,  an'  tak  the  law,  as  you 
Irish  do,  into  their  ain  hands." 

"What  do  you  mane  by  that?"  asked  Andy,  whose  tem- 
per began  to  get  warm  by  the  observation. 

"  Eh,  man,"  replied  the  Scotchman,  "  dinna  let  your 
birses  rise  at  that  gate.  Noo,  there's  the  filbert  trees,  ma 
friend,  of  whilk  ane  is  male  and  the  tither  female;  and 
the  upshot  e'en  is,  Andy,  that  de'il  a  pickle  o'  fruit  ever  the 
female  produces  until  there's  a  braw  halesome  male  tree 
planted  in  the  same  gerden.  But  ou,  man,  Andy,  wasna 
yon  she  and  that  bonnie  jaud,  Connor,  that  we  met  the 
noo  1  De'il  be  frae  my  saul,  but  I  jalouse  she's  aff  wi'  him 
this  vara  nicht." 

"  Oh  dear,  no !"  replied-  Cummiskey,  starting ;  "  that 
would  kill  her  father;  and  yet  there  must  be  something  in 
it,  or  what  would  bring  them  there  at  such  an  hour  1  He 
and  she  may  love  one  another  as  much  as  they  like ;  but  / 
must  think  of  my  masther." 


WILLY  REILLY.  309 

"  In  that  case,  then,  our  best  plan  is  to  gi'e  the  alarm." 

"Hould,"  replied  Andy,  "let  us  be  cautious.  They 
wouldn't  go  on  foot,  I  think  ;  and  before  we  rise  a  ruction 
in  the  house,  let  us  find  out  whether  she  has  made  off  or 
not.     Sit  you  here,  and  I'll  try  to  see  Connor,  her  maid." 

"  Ah,  but  Andy,  man,  it's  no  just  that  pleasant  to  sit  here 
dry-lipped ;  the  tankard's  oot,  ye  ken." 

"  Divil  tankard  the  Scotch  sowl  o'  you — who  do  you 
suppose  could  think  of  a  tankard,  or  anything  else,  if  what 
we  suspect  has  happened  %     It  will  kill  him." 

He  then  proceeded  to  look  for  Connor,  whom  he  met  in 
tears,  which  she  was  utterly  unable  to  conceal. 

"Well,  Miss  Connor,"  he  asked,  "what's  the  matther? 
You're  cryin',  I  persave." 

"  Ah,  Cummiskey,  my  mistress  is  unwell." 

"Unwell!  why  she  wasn't  unwell,  a  while  ago,  when 
the  gardener  and  I  met  her  and  you  on  your  way  to  the 
back  o'  the  garden." 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Connor,  "I  forced  her  to  come  out, 
to  try  what  a  little  cool  air  might  do  for  her." 

"  Ay,  but,  Counor,  did  you  force  her  to  come  in  again  1" 

"Force!  there  was  no  force  necessary,  Cummiskey. 
She's  now  in  her  own  room,  quite  ill." 

"  Oh,  then,  if  she's  quite  ill,  it's  right  that  her  father 
should  know  it,  in  ordher  that  a  docther  may  be  sent  for." 

"  Ah,  but  she's  now  asleep,  Cummiskey — that  sleep  may 
set  her  to  rights ;  she  may  waken  quite  recovered  ;  but 
you  know  it  might  be  dangerous  to  disturb  her." 

"  Ay,  I  believe  you,"  he  replied,  dissembling ;  for  he  saw 
at  once,  by  Connor's  agitated  manner,  that  every  word  she 
uttered  was  a  lie ;  "  the  sleep  will  be  good  for  her,  the 
darlin';  but  take  care  of  her,  Connor,  for  the  masther's 
sake ;  for  what  would  become  of  him  if  anything  happened 
her  1    You  know  that  if  she  died  he  wouldn't  live  a  week." 

"  That's  true,  indeed,"  she  replied,  "  and  if  she  gets 
worse,  Cummiskey,  I'll  let  the  master  know." 

"  That's  a  good  girl ;  ma  gragal  that  you  war — good-bye, 
acushla,"  and  he  immediately  returned  to  his  own  room, 
after  having  observed  that  Connor  went  down  to  the 
kitchen. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Malcomson,"  said  he,  "  there  is  a  good  fir© 


310  WILLY   REITXY. 

before  you.     I  ax  your  pardon — just  sit  in  the  light  of  it 
for  a  minute  or  so  ;  I  want  this  candle." 

"'Am  s^vin',  Andy,  gin  ye  haud  awa  to  the  kitchen,  it 
wadna  be  a  crime  to  send  up  anither  tankard  o'  that  yill." 

To  this  the  other  made  no  reply,  but  walked  out  of  the 
room,  and  very  deliberately  proceeded  to  that  of  Helen's. 
The  door  was  open,  the  bed  unslept  upon,  the  window 
curtains  undrawn;  in  fact,  the  room  was  tenantless,  Connor 
a  liar  and  an  accomplice,  and  the  suspicions  of  himself  and 
Malcomson  well  founded.  He  then  followed  Connor  to 
the  kitchen ;  but  she,  too,  had  disappeared,  or  at  least  hid 
herself  from  him.  He  then  desired  the  other  female  ser- 
vants to  ascertain  whether  Miss  Folliard  was  within  or 
not ;  giving  it  as  his  opinion  that  she  had  eloped  with 
Willy  Reilly.  The  uproar  then  commenced,  the  house  was 
searched ;  but  no  Cooleen  Bawn  was  found.  Cummiskey 
himself  remained  comparatively  tranquil;  but  his  tran- 
quillity was  neither  more  nor  less  than  an  inexpressible 
sorrow  for  what  he  knew  the  affectionate  old  man  must 
suffer  for  the  idol  of  his  heart,  upon  whom  he  doted  with 
such  unexampled  tenderness  and  affection.  On  ascertain- 
ing that  she  was  not  in  the  house,  he  went  up-stairs  to  his 
master's  bedroom,  having  the  candlestick  in  his  hand,  aud 
tapped  at  the  door.  There  was  no  reply  from  within,  and 
on  his  entering  he  found  the  old  man  asleep.  The  case, 
however,  was  one  that  admitted  of  no  delay ;  but  he  felt 
that  to  communicate  the  melancholy  tidings  was  a  fearful 
task,  and  he  scarcely  knew  in  what  words  to  shape  the 
event  which  had  occurred.  At  length,  he  stirred  him 
gently,  and  the  old  man,  half  asleep,  exclaimed : 

"Good  night,  Helen — good  night,  darling!  I  am  not 
well ;  I  had  something  to  tell  you  about  the  discovery  of — 
but  I  will  let  you  know  it  to-morrow  at  breakfast.  For 
your  sake  I  shall  let  him  escape ;  there  now,  go  to  bed,  my 
love." 

"  Sir,"  said  Cummiskey,  "  I  hope  you'll  excuse  me  for 
disturbing  you." 

"  What  ]  who  'I  who's  there  1  I  thought  it  was  my  daugh- 
ter." 

"  No,  sir,  I  wish  it  was;  I'm  come  to  tell  you  that  Miss 
Folliard  can't  be  found  :  we  have  searched  every  nook  and 


WILLY  EEILLY.  311 

corner  of  the  house  to  no  purpose  :  wherever  she  is,  she's 
not  undher  this  roof.  I  came  to  tell  you  so,  and  to  bid  you 
get  up,  that  we  may  see  what's  to  be  done." 

"  What,"  he  exclaimed,  starting  up,  "  my  child  ! — my 
child — my  child  gone  !  God  of  heaven  !  God  of  heaven, 
support  me  ! — my  darling !  my  treasure  !  my  delight ! — Oh, 
Cummiskey ! — but  it  can't  be — to  desert  me ! — to  leave  me 
in  misery  and  sorrow,  broken-liearted,  distracted ! — she 
that  was  the  prop  of  my  age,  that  loved  me  as  never  child 
loved  a  father  !  Begone,  Cummiskey,  it  is  not  so,  it  can't 
be,  I  say :  search  again ;  she  is  somewhere  in  the  house ; 
you  don't  know,  sirra,  how  she  loved  me ;  why  it  was  only 
this  night  that,  on  taking  her  good-night  kiss,  she — ha— 
what  ?  what  ? — she  wept,  she  wept  bitterly,  and  bade  me 
fareivell!  and  said — Here,  Cummiskey,  assist  me  to  dress. 
Oh,  I  see  it,  Cummiskey,  I  see  it !  she  is  gone !  she  is  gone  ! 
yes,  she  bade  me  farewell ;  but  I  was  unsteady  and  un- 
settled after  too  mnch  drink,  and  did  not  comprehend  her 
meaning." 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  almost  frantic  distraction 
of  that  loving  father,  who,  as  he  said,  had  no  prop  to  lean 
upon  but  his  Cooleen  Bawn,  for  he  himself  often  loved  to 
call  her  by  that  appellation. 

"  Cummiskey,"  he  proceeded,  "  we  will  pursue  them — 
we  must  have  my  darling  back :  yes,  and  I  will  forgive  her, 
for  what  is  she  but  a  child,  Cummiskey,  not  yet  twenty. 
But  in  the  meantime  I  will  shoot  him  dead — dead — dead — 
if  he  had  a  thousand  lives ;  and  from  this  night  out  I  shall 
pursue  Popery,  in  all  its  shapes  and  disguises;  I  will 
imprison  it,  transport  it,  hang  it — hang  it,  Cummiskey,  as 
round  as  a  hoop.  King  the  bell,  and  let  Lanigan  unload, 
and  then  reload  my  pistols ;  he  always  does  it ;  his  father 
was  my  grandfather's  game-keeper,  and  he  understands 
fire-arms.  Here  though,  help  me  on  with  my  boots  first, 
and  then  I  will  be  dressed  immediately.  After  giving  the 
pistols  to  Lanigan,  desire  the  grooms  and  hostlers  to  saddle 
all  the  horses  in  the  stables.  We  must  set  out  and  pursue 
them.  It  is  possible  we  may  overtake  them  yet.  I  will 
not  level  a  pistol  against  my  child ;  but  by  the  great 
Boyne !  if  we  meet  them,  come  up  with  them,  overtake 
them,   his   guilty   spirit   will  stand   before  the  throne  of 


312  WILLY   REILLY. 

judgment  this  night.     Go  now,  give  the  pistols  to  Lanigan, 
and  tell  him  to  reload  them  steadily." 

We  leave  them  now,  in  order  that  we  may  follow  the 
sheriff  and  his  party,  who  went  to  secure  the  body  of  the 
Eed  Rapparee,  This  worthy  person,  not  at  all  aware  of  the 
friendly  office  which  his  patron,  Sir  Robert,  intended  to 
discharge  towards  him,  felt  himself  quite  safe,  and  conse- 
quently took  very  little  pains  to  secure  his  concealment. 
Indeed  it  could  hardly  be  expected  that  he  should,  inas- 
much as  Whitecraft  had  led  him  to  understand,  as  we 
have  said,  that  Government  had  pardoned  him  his  social 
transgressions,  as  a  per  contra  for  those  political  ones  which 
they  still  expected  from  him.  Such  was  his  own  view  of 
the  case,  although  he  was  not  altogether  free  from 
misgiving,  and  a  certain  vague  apprehension.  Be  this  as 
it  may,  he  had  yet  to  learn  a  lesson  which  his  employer 
was  not  disposed  to  teach  him  by  any  other  means  than 
handing  him  over  to  the  authorities  on  the  following  day. 
How  matters  might  have  terminated  between  him  and  the 
baronet  it  is  out  of  our  power  to  detail.  The  man  was  at 
all  times  desperate  and  dreadful,  where  either  revenge  or 
anger  was  excited,  especially  as  he  laboured  under  the 
superstitious  impression  that  he  was  never  to  be  hanged  or 
perish  by  a  violent  death  ;  a  sentiment  then  by  no  means 
uncommon  among  persons  of  his  outrageous  and  desperate 
life.  It  has  been  observed,  and  with  truth,  that  the  Irish 
Rapparees  seldom  indulged  in  the  habit  of  intoxication  or 
intemperance,  and  this  is  not  at  all  to  be  wondered  at. 
The  meshes  of  authority  were  always  spread  for  them,  and 
the  very  consciousness  of  this  fact  sharpened  their  wits, 
and  kept  them  perpetually  on  their  guard  against  the 
possibility  of  arrest.  Nor  was  this  all.  The  very  nature 
of  the  lawless  and  outrageous  life  they  led,  and  their 
frequent  exposure  to  danger,  rendered  habits  of  caution 
necessary — and  those  were  altogether  incompatible  with 
habits  of  intemperance.  Self-preservation  rendered  this 
policy  necessary,  and  we  believe  there  are  but  few  instances 
on  record  of  a  Rapparee  having  been  arrested  in  a  state  of 
intoxication.  Their  laws  in  fact,  however  barbarous  they 
were  in  other  matters,  rendered  three  cases  of  drunkenness 


WILLY  REILLY.  313 

a  cause  of  expulsion  from  the  gang.  O'Donnel,  however, 
had  now  relaxed  from  the  rigid  observance  of  his  own 
rules,  principally  for  the  reasons  we  have  already  stated — 
by  which,  we  mean,  a  conviction  of  his  own  impunity,  as 
falsely  communicated  to  him  by  Sir  Eobert  Whitecraft. 
The  sheriff  had  not,  at  first,  intended  to  be  personally 
present  at  his  capture ;  but  upon  second  consideration,  he 
came  to  the  determination  of  heading  the  party  who  were 
authorised  to  secure  him.  This  resolution  of  Oxley's  had, 
as  will  presently  be  seen,  a  serious  effect  upon  the  fate  and 
fortunes  of  the  Cooleen  Bawn  and  her  lover.  The  party, 
who  were  guided  by  Tom  Steeple,  did  not  go  to  Mary 
Mahon's,  but  to  a  neighbouring  cottage,  which  was  in- 
habited by  a  distant  relative  of  O'Donnel.  A  quarrel  had 
taken  place  between  the  fortune-teller  and  him,  arising 
from  his  jealousy  of  Sir  Robert,  which  caused  such  an 
estrangement  as  prevented  him  for  some  time  from  visiting 
her  house.  Tom  Steeple,  however,  had  haunted  him  as  his 
shadow,  without  ever  coming  in  contact  with  him  person- 
ally, and  on  this  night  he  had  him  set  as  a  soho  man  has  a 
hare  in  her  form.  Guided,  therefore,  by  the  intelligent 
idiot  and  Fergus,  the  party  reached  the  cottage  in  which 
the  Rapparee  resided.  The  house  was  instantly  sur- 
rounded and  the  door  knocked  at,  for  the  party  knew  that 
the  man  was  inside. 

"  Who  is  there  V  asked  the  old  woman  who  kept  the 
cottage. 

"  Open  the  door  instantly,"  said  the  sheriff,  "  or  we  shall 
smash  it  in." 

"  No,  I  won't,"  she  replied ;  "  no,  I  won't,  you  bosthoon. 
whoever  you  are.  I  never  did  nothin'  agin  the  laws,  bad 
luck  to  them,  and  I  won't  open  my  door  to  any  strolling 
vagabone  like  you." 

"  Produce  the  man  we  want,"  said  the  sheriff,  "  or  we 
shall  arrest  you  for  harbouring  an  outlaw  and  a  murderer. 
Your  house  is  now  surrounded  by  military,  acting  under 
the  king's  orders." 

"  Give  me  time,"  said  the  crone  ;  "  I  was  at  my  prayers 
when  you  came  to  disturb  me,  and  I'll  finish  them  before  I 
open  the  door,  if  you  were  to  burn  the  house  over  my 
head,  and  myself  in  it. — Up,"  said  she  to  the  Rapparee, 


314:  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  through  the  roof — get  that  ould  table  undher  your  fe?t — 
the  thatch  is  thin — slip  out  and  lie  on  the  roof  till  they 
go,  and  then  let  them  whistle  jigs  to  the  larks,  if  they 
Tike." 

The  habits  of  escape  peculiar  to  the  Eapparees  were  well 
known  to  Fergus,  who  cautioned  those  who  surrounded  the 
house  to  watch  the  roof.  It  was  well  they  did  so,  for,  in 
less  time  than  we  have  taken  to  describe  it,  the  body  of 
the  R-apparee  was  seen  projecting  itself  upwards  through 
the  thin  thatch,  and  in  an  instant  several  muskets  were 
levelled  at  him,  accompanied  by  instant  orders  to  surrender 
on  pain  of  being  shot.  Under  such  circumstances  there 
was  no  alternative,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  was  handcuffed 
and  a  prisoner.  The  party  then  proceeded  along  the  road 
on  which  some  of  the  adventures  already  recorded  in  this 
narrative  had  taken  place,  when  they  were  met,  at  a  sharp 
angle  of  it,  by  Reilly  and  his  Cooleen  Bawn,  both  of  whom 
were  almost  instantly  recognised  by  the  sheriff  and  his 
party.     Their  arrest  was  immediate. 

"  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  the  sheriff,  "lam  sorry  for  this.  You 
must  feel  aware  that  I  neither  am  nor  ever  was  disposed  to 
be  your  enemy ;  but  I  now  find  you  carrying  away  a  Pro- 
testant heiress,  the  daughter  of  my  friend,  contrary  to  the 
laws  of  the  land  ;  a  fact  which  in  itself  gives  me  the  power 
and  authority  to  take  you  into  custody,  which  I  accord- 
ingly do  in  his  Majesty's  name.  I  owe  you  no  ill  will,  but 
in  the  meantime,  you  must  return  with  me  to  Squire 
Folliard's  house.  Miss  Folliard,  you  must,  as  you  know 
me  to  be  your  father's  friend,  consider  that  I  feel  it  m}^ 
duty  to  restore  you  to  him." 

"  I  am  not  without  means  of  defence,"  replied  Reilly, 
"  but  the  exercise  of  such  means  would  be  useless.  Two 
of  your  lives  I  might  take ;  but  yours,  Mr.  Sheriff,  could 
not  be  one  of  them,  and  that  you  must  feel." 

"  I  feel,  Mr.  Reilly,  that  you  are  a  man  of  honour  ;  and, 
in  point  of  fact,  there  is  ample  apology  for  your  conduct  iu 
the  exquisite  beauty  of  the  young  lady  who  accompanies 
you;  but  I  must  also  feel  for  her  father,  whose  bereave- 
ment, occasioned  by  her  loss,  would  most  assuredly  break 
his  heart." 

Here   a  deep   panting   of  the   bosom,  accompanied    by 


WILLY  REILLY.  315 

violent  sobs,  was  heard  by  the  party,  and  Cooleen  Bawn 
whispered  to  Reilly,  in  a  voice  nearly  stifled  by  grief  and 
excitement : 

"  Dear  Reilly,  I  love  you ;  but  it  was  madness  in  us  to 
take  this  step;  let  me  return  to  my  father — only  let  me 
see  him  safe  ?" 

"But  Whitecraft?' 

"  Death  sooner.  Eeilly,  I  am  ill,  I  am  ill — this  struggle 
is  too  much  for  me.  What  shall  I  do  ?  My  head  is  swim- 
ming." 

She  had  scarcely  uttered  these  words  when  her  father, 
accompanied  by  his  servants,  dashed  rapidly  up;  and 
Cummiskey,  the  old  huntsman,  instantly  seized  Reilly, 
exclaiming,  "Mr.  Eeilly,  we  have  you  now;"  and  whilst 
he  spoke,  his  impetuous  old  master  dashed  his  horse  to  one 
side,  and  discharged  a  pistol  at  our  hero,  and  this  failing, 
he  discharged  another.  Thanks  to  Lanigan,  however,  they 
were  both  harmless,  that  worthy  man  having  forgotten  to 
put  in  bullets,  or  even  as  much  powder  as  would  singe  an 
ordinary  whisker. 

"Forbear,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  sheriff,  addressing  Cum- 
miskey, "  unhand  Mr.  Reilly.  He  is  already  in  custody  ; 
and  you,  Mr.  Folliard,  may  thank  God  that  you  are  not  a 
murderer  this  night.  As  a  father,  I  grant  that  an  apology 
may  be  made  for  your  resentment ;  but  not  to  the  shedding 
of  blood." 

"Lanigan!  villain!  treacherous  and  deceitful  villain!" 
shouted  the  Squire,  "  it  was  your  perfidy  that  deprived  me 
of  my  revenge.  Begone,  you  sneaking  old  profligate,  and 
never  let  me  see  your  face  again.  You  did  not  load  my 
pistols  as  you  ought." 

"No,  sir,"  replied  Lanigan;  "and  I  thank  God  that  I 
did  not.  It  wasn't  my  intention  to  see  your  honour  hanged 
for  murder." 

"Mr.  Folliard,"  observed  the  sheriff,  "you  ought  to 
bless  God  that  gave  you  a  prudent  servant,  who  had  too 
much  conscience  to  become  the  instrument  of  your  venge- 
ance. Restrain  your  resentment  for  the  present,  and  leave 
Mr.  Reilly  to  the  laws  of  his  country.  We  shall  now 
proceed  to  your  house,  where,  as  a  magistrate,  you  can 
commit  him  to  prison,  and  I  will  see  the  warrant  executed 


316  WILLY   ItElLLY. 

this  night.     We  have  also  another  prisoner  of  some  cele- 
brity, the  Red  Rapparee." 

"By  sun  and  moon,  I'll  go  bail  for  him,"  replied  the 
infuriated  Squire  ;  "  I  like  that  fellow,  because  Reilly  does 
not.  Sir  Robert  spoke  to  me  iu  his  favour.  Yes,  I  shall 
go  bail  for  him,  to  any  amount." 

"  His  offence  is  not  a  bailable  one,"  said  the  cool  sheriff; 
"  nor,  if  the  thing  were  possible,  would  it  be  creditable  in 
you,  as  a  magistrate,  to  offer  yourself  as  bail  for  a  common 
robber,  one  of  the  most  notorious  highwaymen  of  the  day." 

"Well,  but  come  along,"  replied  the  Squire;  "I  have 
changed  my  mind ;  we  shall  hang  them  both ;  Sir  Robert 
will  assist  and  support  me.  I  could  overlook  the  offence 
of  a  man  who  only  took  my  purse;  yes,  I  could  overlook 
that  \  but  the  man  who  would  rob  me  of  my  child — of  the 
solace  and  prop  of  my  heart  aud  life — of — of — of — " 

Here  the  tears  came  down  his  cheeks  so  copiously  that 
his  sobs  prevented  him  from  proceeding.  He  recovered 
himself,  however,  for,  indeed,  he  was  yet  scarcely  sober 
after  the  evening's  indulgence,  and  the  two  parties  returned 
to  his  house,  where,  after  having  two  or  three  glasses  of 
Burgundy  to  make  his  hand  steady,  he  prepared  himself  to 
take  the  sheriff's  informations,  and  sign  unfortunate  Reilly's 
committal  to  Sligo  gaol.  The  vindictive  tenacity  of  resent- 
ment by  which  the  heart  of  the  ruffian  Eapparee  was 
animated  against  that  young  man  was  evinced,  on  this 
occasion,  by  a  satanic  ingenuity  of  malice  that  was  com- 
pletely in  keeping  with  the  ruffian's  character.  It  was 
quite  clear,  from  the  circumstances  we  are  about  to  relate, 
that  the  red  miscreant  had  intended  to  rob  Folliard's  house 
on  the  night  of  his  attack  upon  it,  in  addition  to  the 
violent  abduction  of  his  daughter.  We  must  premise  here 
that  Reilly  and  the  Rapparee  were  each  strongly  guarded 
in  different  rooms,  and  the  first  thing  the  latter  did  was  to 
get  some  one  to  inform  Mr.  Folliard,  that  he  had  a  matter 
of  importance  concerning  Reilly  to  mention  to  him.  This 
was  immediately  on  their  return,  and  before  the  informa- 
tions against  Reilly  were  drawn  up.  Folliard,  who  knew 
not  what  to  think,  paused  for  some  time,  and,  at  last, 
taking  the  sheriff  along  with  him,  went  to  hear  what 
O'Dounel  had  to  say. 


WILLY  REILLY.  317 

"Is  that  ruffian  safe?"  he  asked,  before  entering  the 
room  ;  "have  you  so  secured  hirn  that  he  can't  be  mischie- 
vous ]" 

"  Quite  safe,  your  honour,  and  as  harmless  as  a  lamb." 

He  and  the  sheriff  then  entered,  and  found  the  huge 
savage  champing  his  teeth  and  churning  with  his  jaws, 
until  a  line  of  white  froth  encircled  his  mouth,  rendering 
him  a  hideous  and  fearful  object  to  look  at. 

"  What  is  this  you  want  with  me,  you  misbegotten  vil- 
lain r  said  the  Squire.  "  Stand  between  the  ruffian  and  me, 
fellows,  in  the  meantime — what  is  it,  sirra  F 

"  Who's  the  robber  now,  Mr.  Folliard  V  he  asked,  with 
something,  however,  of  a  doubtful  triumph  in  his  red 
glaring  eye.  "Your  daughter  had  jewels  in  a  black  cabi- 
net, and  I'd  have  secured  them  same  jewels  and  your 
daughter  along  with  them,  on  a  certain  night,  only  for 
Reilly ;  and  it  was  very  natural  he  should  out-general  me, 
which  he  did ;  but  it  was  only  to  get  both  for  himself. 
Let  him  be  searched  at  wanst,  and  although  I  don't  say  he 
has  them,  yet  I'd  give  a  hundred  to  one  he  has  :  she  would 
never  carry  them  while  he  was  with  her." 

The  old  Squire,  who  would  now,  with  peculiar  pleasure, 
have  acted  in  the  capacity  of  hangman  in  Eeilly's  case,  had 
that  unfortunate  young  man  been  doomed  to  undergo  the 
penalty  of  the  law,  and  that  no  person  in  the  shape  of 
Jack  Ketch  was  forthcoming— he,  we  say — the  Squire — 
started  at  once  to  the  room,  where  Reilly  was  secured, 
accompanied  also  by  the  sheriff,  and,  after  rushing  in  with 
a  countenance  inflamed  by  passion,  shouted  out: 

"Seize  and  examine  that  villain;  he  has  robbed  me— 
examine  him  instantly  :  he  has  stolen  the  family  jewels." 

Reilly's  countenance  fell,  for  he  knew  his  fearful  posi- 
tion ;  but  that  which  weighed  heaviest  upon  his  heart  was, 
a  consciousness  of  the  misinterpretations  which  the  world 
might  but  upon  the  motives  of  his  conduct  in  this  elope- 
ment, imputing  it  to  selfishness  and  a  mercenary  spirit. 
When  about  to  be  searched,  he  said  : 

"You  need  not;  I  will  not  submit  to  the  indignity  of 
such  an  examination.  I  have  and  hold  the  jewels  for 
Miss  Folliard,  whose  individual  property  I  believe  they 
are ;  nay,  I  am  certain  of  it,  because  she  told  me  so,  and 


318  WILLY  REILLY. 

requested  me  to  keep  them  for  her.  Let  her  be  sent  for, 
and  I  shall  hand  them  back  to  her  at  once,  but  to  no  other 
person  without  violence." 

11  But  she  is  not  in  a  condition  to  receive  them,"  replied 
the  sheriff  (which  was  a  fact) ;  "  I  pledge  my  honour  she 
is  not." 

"  Well,  then,  Mr.  Sheriff,  I  place  them  in  your  hands ; 
you  can  do  with  them  as  you  wish ;  that  is,  either  return 
them  to  Miss  Folliard,  the  legal  owner  of  them,  or  to  her 
father." 

.The  sheriff  received  the  casket  which  contained  them, 
and  immediately  handed  it  to  Mr.  Folliard,  who  put  it  in 
his  pocket,  exclaiming: 

"  Now,  Eeilly,  if  we  can  hang  you  for  nothing  else,  we 
can  hang  you  for  this  ;  and  we  will,  sir." 

"You,  sir,"  said  Reilly,  with  melancholy  indignation, 
"are  privileged  to  insult  me ;  so,  alas!  is  every  man  now, 
but  I  can  retire  into  the  integrity  of  my  own  heart,  and 
find  a  consolation  there  of  which  you  cannot  deprive  me. 
My  life  is  now  a  consideration  of  no  importance  to  myself, 
since  I  shall  die  with  the  consciousness  that  your  daughter 
loved  me.  You  do  not  hear  this  for  the  first  time,  for  that 
daughter  avowed  it  to  yourself ;  and  if  I  had  beeu  mean 
and  unprincipled  enough  to  have  abandoned  my  religion, 
and  that  of  my  persecuted  forefathers,  I  might  ere  this 
have  been  her  husband." 

"  Come,"  said  Folliard,  who  was  not  prepared  with  an 
answer  to  this,  "come,"  said  he,  addressing  the  sheriff, 
"come,  till  we  make  out  his  mittimus,  and  give  him  the 
first  shove  to  the  gallows." 

They  then  left  him. 


WILLY  REILLY.  319 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

SIR  ROBERT   ACCEPTS   OF  AN  INVITATION. 

lHE  next  morning  rumour  had,  as  they  say,  her  hands 
and  tongues  very  full  of  business.  Reilly  and  the 
Red  Rapparee  were  lodged  in  Sligo  gaol  that  night, 
and  the  next  morning  the  fact  was  carried  by  the  aforesaid 
rumour  far  and  wide  over  the  whole  country.  One  of  the 
first  whose  ears  it  reached  was  the  gallant  and  virtuous  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft,  who  no  sooner  heard  it  than  he  ordered 
his  horse,  and  rode  at  a  rapid  rate  to  see  Mr.  Folliard,  in 
order,  now  that  Reilly  was  out  of  the  way,  to  propose  an 
instant  marriage  with  the  Cooleen  Bawn.  He  found  the  old 
man  in  a  state  very  difficult  to  be  described,  for  he  had 
only  just  returned  to  the  drawing-room  from  the  strongly 
sentinelled  chamber  of  his  daughter.  Indignation  against 
Reilly  seemed  now  nearly  lost  in  the  melancholy  situation 
of  the  wretched  Cooleen  Bawn.  He  had  just  seen  her,  but, 
somehow,  the  interview  had  saddened  and  depressed  his 
heart.  Her  position  and  the  state  of  her  feelings  would 
have  been  pitiable,  even  to  the  eye  of  a  stranger  ;  what, 
then,  must  they  not  have  been  to  a  father  who  loved  her 
as  he  did  ? 

"  Helen,"  said  he,  as  he  took  a  chair  in  her  room,  after 
her  guards  had  been  desired  to  withdraw  for  a  time, 
M  Helen,  are  you  aware  that  you  have  eternally  disgraced 
your  own  name,  and  that  of  your  father  and  your  family  V 

Helen,  who  was  as  pale  as  death,  looked  at  him  with 
vacant  and  unrecognising  eyes,  but  made  no  reply,  for  it 
was  evident  that  she  either  had  not  heard,  or  did  not 
understand  a  word  he  said. 

"  Helen,"  said  he,  "  did  you  hear  me  V 

She  looked  upon  him  with  a  long  look  of  distress  and 
misery,  but  there  was  the  vacancy  still  and  no  recognition. 

"This,  I  suppose,"  thought  the  father,  "is  just  the  case 
with  every  love-sick  girl  in  her  condition,  who  will  not  be. 
allowed  to  have  her  own  way  ;  but  of  what*  use  is  a  father 
unless  he  puts  all  this  nonsense  downy  and  substitutes-  his 


320  WILLY   KEILLY. 

own  judgment  for  that  of  a  silly  girl?  I  will  say  something 
now  that  will  startle  her,  and  I  will  say  nothing  but  what 
I  will  bring  about." 

"  Helen,  my  darling,"  he  said,  "  are  you  both  deaf  and 
blind,  that  you  can  neither  see  nor  hear  your  father,  and 
to-morrow  your  wedding  day1?  Sir  Eobert  Whitecraft  will 
be  here  early;  the  special  licence  is  procured,  and  after 
marriage  you  and  he  start  for  his  English  estates  to  spend 
the  honeymoon  there,  after  which  you  both  must  return 
and  live  with  me,  for  I  need  scarcely  say,  Helen,  that  I 
could  not  live  without  you.  Now,  I  think,  you  ought  to 
be  a  happy  girl  to  get  a  husband  possessed  of  such  immense 
property." 

She  started  and  looked  at  him  with  something  like 
returning  consciousness.  "But  where  is  Willy  Eeilly?'r 
she  asked. 

"  The  villain  that  would  have  robbed  me  of  my  property 
and  my  daughter  is  now  safe  in  Sligo  gaol." 

A  flash  of  something  like  joy,  at  least  the  father  took  it 
as  such,  sparkled  in  a  strange  kind  of  triumph  from  her 


"  Ha,"  said  she,  "  is  that  villain  safe  at  last  1  Dear  papa, 
I  am  tired  of  all  this — this — yes,  I  am  tired  of  it,  and  it  is 
time  I  should;  but  you  talked  about  something  else,  did 
you  not?  Something  about  Sir  Eobert  Whitecraft  and  a 
marriage.  And  what  is  my  reply  to  that  %  why,  it  is  this, 
papa  :  /  have  but  one  life,  sir.  Now,  begone,  and  leave  me, 
or,  upon  my  honour,  I  will  push  you  out  of  the  room. 
Have  I  not  consented  to  all  your  terms  ?  Let  Sir  Eobert 
come  to-morrow  and  he  shall  call  me  his  wife  before  the 
sun  reaches  his  meridian.  Now,  leave  me;  leave  me,  I 
say." 

In  this  uncertain  state  her  father  found  himself  com- 
pelled to  retire  to  the  drawing-room,  where  Sir  Eobert  and 
he  met. 

"  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  the  baronet,  "  is  this  true  1" 

"  Is  what  true,  Sir  Eobert?"  said  he  sharply. 

"  Why,  that  Eeilly  and  the  Red  Eapparee  are  both  in 
Sligo  gaol  V 

"  It  is  true,  Sir  Eobert;  and  it  must  be  a  cursed  thing 
to  be  in  gaol  for  a  capital  crime." 


WILLY  REILLY.  3gt 

'  tl  Are  yoii  becoming  penitent,"  asked  the  '  other,  "  >for 
bringing  the  laws  of  the  land  to  bear  upon  the  villain  thafc 
would  have  disgraced,  and  might  have  ruined,  your  only 
daughter  V         '  * 

The  father's  heart  was  stung  by  the  diabolical  pungency 
of  this  question. 

"Sir  Robert,"  said  he,  "  we  will  hang  him,  if  it  was  only 
to  get  the  villain  out  of  the  way  ;  and  if  you  will  be  hers 
to-morrow  at  ten  o'clock,  the  marriage  must  take  place, 
I'll  suffer  no  further  nonsense  about  it;  but,  mark  me, 
after  the  honeymoon  shall  have  passed,  you  and  she  must 
come  and  reside  here ;  to  think  that  I  could  live  without 
her  is  impossible.  Be  here,  then,  at  ten  o'clock,  the 
special  licence  is  ready,  and  I  have  asked  the  Rev.  Samson 
Strong  to  perform  the  ceremony.  A  couple  of  my  neigh- 
bour Ashford's  daughters  will  act  as  bridesmaids,  and  I 
myself  will  give  hsr  away ;  the  marriage  articles  are  drawn 
up,  as  you  know,  and  there  will  be  little  time  lost  in 
signing  them  ;  and  yet,  it's  a  pity  to — but  no  matter — bs 
here  at  ten." 

Whitecraft  took  his  leave  in  high  spirits.  The  arrest 
and  imprisonment  of  Reilly  had  removed  the  great  impedi- 
ment that  had  hitherto  lain  in  the  way  of  his  marriage ; 
but  not  so  the  imprisonment  of  the  Bed  Rapparee.  The 
baronet  regretted  that  that  public  and  notorious  malefactor 
had  been  taken  out  of  his  own  hands,  because  he  wished, 
as  the  reader  knows,  to  make  the  delivering  of  him  up  to 
the  Government  one  of  the  elements  of  his  reconciliation 
to  it.  Still,  as  matters  stood,  he  felt  on  the  whole  grati- 
fied at  what  had  happened. 

Folliard,  after  the  baronet  had  gone,  knew  not  exactly 
how  to  dispose  of  himself.  The  truth  is,  the  man's  heart 
was  an  anomaly — a  series  of  contradictions,  in  which  one 
feeling  opposed  another  for  a  brief  space,  and  then  was 
obliged  to  make  way  for  a  new  prejudice  equally  transitory 
and  evanescent.  Whitecraft  he  never  heartily  liked ;  for 
though  the  man  was  blunt,  he  could  look  through  a  knave, 
and  appreciate  a  man  cf  honour,  with  a  great  deal  of 
shrewd  accuracy.  To  be  sure,  Whitecraft  was  enormously 
rich,  but  then  he  was  penurious  and  inhospitable,  two  vices 
strongly  and  decidedly  opposed  to  the  national  feeling,    . 

x 


.322  WILLY  REILLY. 

•"Curse  the  long-legged  scoundrel,"  he  exclaimed,  u  if  he 
should  beget  me  a  young  breed  of  Whitecraf  ts  like  himself, 
I  would  rather  my  daughter  were  dead  than  marry  him. 
Then,  on  the  other  hand,  Reilly ;  hang  the  fellow,  had  he 
only  recanted  his  nonsensical  creed,  I  could — but  then, 
again,  he  might,  after  marriage,  bring  her  over  to  the 
Papists,  and  then,  by  the  Boyne,  all  my  immense  property 
would  become  Roman  Catholic.  By  Strongbow,  he'd  teach 
-the  very  rivers  that  run  through  it  to  sing  Popish  psalms  in 
Latin :  he  would.  However,  the  best  way  is  to  hang  him 
out  of  the  way,  and  when  Jack  Ketch  has  done  with  him, 
so  has  Helen.     Curse  Whitecraf t  at  all  events !" 

We  may  as  well  hint  here  that  he  had  touched  the  Bur- 
gnndy  to  some  purpose;  he  was  now  in  that  state  of 
mental  imbecility,  where  reason,  baffled  and  prostrated  by 
severe  mental  suffering  and  agitation,  was  incapable  of 
sustaining  him  without  having  recourse  to  the  bottle.  In 
the  due  progress  of  the  night  he  was  helped  to  bed,  and 
had  scarcely  been  placed  and  covered  up  there  when  he  fell 
iast  asleep. 

Whitecraft,  in  the  meantime,  suspected  of  course,  or 
Tather  he  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  fact,  that  unless  by 
some  ingenious  manoeuvre,  of  which  he  could  form  no  con- 
ception, a  marriage  with  the  Cooleen  Bawn  would  be  a 
matter  of  surpassing  difficulty ;  but  he  cared  not,  provided 
it  could  be  effected  by  any  means,  whether  foul  or  fair. 
The  attachment  of  this  scoundrel  to  the  fair  and  beautiful 
Cooleen  Baton  was  composed  of  two  of  the  worst  principles 
of  the  heart — sensuality  and  avarice ;  but,  in  this  instance, 
avarice  came  in  to  support  sensuality.  What  the  licentious 
passions  of  the  debauchee  might  have  failed  to  tempt  him 
to,  the  consideration  of  her  large  fortune  accomplished. 
And  such  was  the  sordid  and  abominable  union  of  the 
motives  which  spurred  him  on  to  the  marriage. 

The  next  morning,  being  that  which  was  fixed  for  his 
wedding  day,  he  was  roused  at  an  early  hour  by  a  loud 
rapping  at  his  hall-door.  He  started  on  his  elbow  in  the 
bed,  and  ringing  the  bell  for  his  valet,  asked,  when  that 
gentleman  entered  his  apartment  half  dressed — "  What  was 
the  matter  1  what  cursed  knocking  was  that  ?     Don't  they 


WILLY   REILLY.  323 

know  I  can  hunt  neither  priest  nor  Papist  now,  since  this 
polite  Viceroy  came  here." 

"  I  don't  know  what  the  matter  is,  Sir  Robert ;  they  are 
at  it  again ;  shall  I  open  the  door,  sir  V 

"  Certainly,  open  the  door  immediately." 

"  I  think  you  had  better  dress,  Sir  Robert,  and  see  what 
they  want." 

The  baronet  threw  his  long  fleshless  shanks  out  of  the 
bed,  and  began  to  get  on  his  clothes  as  fast  as  he  could. 

"  Ha !"  said  he,  when  he  was  nearly  dressed,  "  what  if 
this  should  be  a  Government  prosecution  for  what  I  have 
undertaken  to  do  on  my  own  responsibility  during  the  last 
Administration?  But  no,  surely  it  cannot  be;  they  would 
have  given  me  some  intimation  of  their  proceedings.  This 
was  due  to  my  rank  and  station  in  the  country,  and  to  my 
exertions,  a  zealous  Protestant,  to  sustain  the  existence  of 
Church  and  State.  Curse  Church  and  State  if  it  be !  I 
have  got  myself,  perhaps,  into  a  pretty  mess  by  them." 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  the  last  words  when  Mr.  Has- 
tings, accompanied  by  two  or  three  officers  of  justice, 
entered  his  bedroom. 

"Ah,  Hastings,  my  dear  friend,  what  is  the  matter  ?  Is 
there  anything  wrong,  or  can  I  be  of  any  assistance  to  you? 
if  so,  command  me.  But  we  are  out  of  power  now,  you 
know.  Still,  show  me  how  I  can  assist  you.  How  do  you 
do  ?"  and  as  he  spoke,  he  put  his  hand  out  to  shake  hands 
with  Mr.  Hastings. 

"No,  Sir  Robert,  I  cannot  take  your  hand,  nor  the  hand 
of  any  man  that  is  red  with  the  blood  of  murder.  This," 
said  he,  turning  to  the  officers,  "  is  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft ; 
arrest  him  for  murder  and  arson." 

"Why,  bless  me,  Mr.  Hastings,  are  you  mad?  Surely 
I  did  nothing  unless  under  the  sanction  and  by  the  in- 
structions of  the  last  Government?" 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen,  Sir  Robert ;  but,  at  all 
events,  I  cannot  enter  into  any  discussion  with  you  at 
present.  I  am  here  as  a  magistrate.  Informations  have 
been  sworn  against  you  by  several  parties,  and  you  must 
now  consider  yourself  our  prisoner,  and  come  along  with 
us.  There  is  a  party  of  cavalry  below,  to  escort  you  to 
Sligo  gaol."  : 


324  WILLY  REILLY. 

"But  how  am  I  to  be  conveyed  there]  I  hope  I  will  be 
allowed  my  own  carriage  %" 

"Unquestionably,"  replied  Mr.  Hastings;  "I  was  about 
to  have  proposed  it  myself.  You  shall  be  treated  with 
every  respect,  sir." 

JJ  May  I  not  breakfast  before  I  go  V9 

"  Certainly,  sir ;  we  wish  to  discharge  our  duty  in  the 
mildest  possible  manner." 

"  Thank  you,  Hastings,  thank  you ;  you  were  always  a 
good-hearted,  gentlemanly  fellow.  You  will,  of  course, 
breakfast  with  me;  and  these  men  must  be  attended  to." 

And  he  rang  the  bell. 

"I  have  already  breakfasted,  Sir  Eobert;  but,  even  if 
I  had  not,  it  would  not  become  me,  as  your  prosecutor,  to 
do  so ;  but,  perhaps,  the  men " 

"  What,"  exclaimed  the  baronet,  interrupting  him,  "  you 
my  prosecutor  !    For  what,  pray  V* 

"  That  will  come  in  time,"  replied,  the  other ;  "  and  you 
may  rest  assured  that  I  would  not  be  here  now,  were  I  not 
made  aware  that  you  were  about  to  be  married  to  that 
sweet  girl,  whom  you  have  persecuted  with  such  a  mean 
and  unmanly  spirit,  and  designed  to  start  with  her  for 
England  this  day." 

Whitecraft,  now  that  he  felt  the  dreadful  consequences 
of  the  awful  position  in  which  he  was  placed,  became  the 
very  picture  of  despair  and  pusillanimity ;  his  complexion 
turned  haggard,  his  eyes  wild,  and  his  hands  trembled  so 
much  that  he  was  not  able  to  bring  the  tea  or  bread  and 
butter  to  his  lips ;  in  fact,  such  an  impersonation  of  rank 
and  unmanly  cowardice  could  not  be  witnessed.  He  rose 
up,  exclaiming,  in  a  faint  and  hollow  voice,  that  echoed  no 
other  sensation  than  that  of  horror : 

"I  cannot  breakfast;  I  can  eat  nothing.  What  a  fate  is 
this!  on  the  very  day,  too,  which  I  thought  would  have 
consummated  my  happiness  !     Oh,  it  is  dreadful  1" 

His  servant,  then,  by  Mr.  Hastings'  orders,  packed  up 
changes  of  linen  and  apparel  in  his  trunk ;  for  he  saw  that 
he  himself  had  not  the  presence  of  mind  to  pay  attention  to 
anything.  In  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  the  carriage  was 
ready,  and  with  tottering  steps  he  went  down  the  stairs, 
and  was  obliged  to  be  assisted  into  it  by  two  constables, 


WILLY  REILLY.  325 

who  took  their  places  beside  him.  Mr.  Hastings  bowed  to 
him,  coldly,  but  said  nothing ;  the  coachman  smacked  his 
whip,  and  was  about  to  start,  when  he  turned  round  and 
said : 

"Where  am  I  to  drive,  Sir  Robert?'* 

"  To  Sligo  gaol,"  replied  one  of  the  constables,  "as  quick 
as  you  can,  too." 

The  horses  got  a  lash  or  two,  and  bounded  on,  whilst  an 
escort  of  cavalry,  with  swords  drawn,  attended  the  coach 
until  it  reached  its  gloomy  destination,  where  we  will  leave 
it  for  the  present. 

The  next  morning,  as  matters  approached  to  a  crisis,  the 
unsteady  old  Squire  began  to  feel  less  comfortable  in  his 
mind  than  he  could  have  expected.  To  say  truth,  he  had 
often  felt  it  rather  an  unnatural  process  to  marry  so  lovely 
a,  girl  to  "  such  an  ugly  stork  of  a  man  as  Whitecraft  was, 
and  a  knave  to  boot.  I  cannot  forget  how  he  took  me  in 
by  the  ' Hop-and-go-constant'  affair.  But,  then,  he's  a 
good  Protestant — not  that  I  mean  he  has  a  single  spark  of 
religion  in  his  nondescript  carcase ;  but  in  those  times  it's 
not  canting  and  psalm-singing  we  want,  but  good  political 
Protestantism,  that  will  enable  us  to  maintain  our  ascen- 
dancy by  other  means  than  praying.  Curse  the  hound, 
what  keeps  him  1  Is  this  a  day  for  him  to  be  late  on  ?  and 
it  now  half-past  ten  o'clock ;  however,  he  must  come  soon ; 
but,  upon  my  honour,  I  dread  what  Will  happen  when  he 
does.  A  scene  there  will  be,  ho  doubt  of  it;  however,  we 
must  only  struggle  through  it  as  well  as  we  can.  I'll  go 
and  see  Helen,  and  try  to  reconcile  her  to  this  chap,  or,  at 
all  events,  to  let  her  know  at  once  that,  be  the  consequences 
what  they  may,  she  must  marry  him,  if  I  were  myself  to 
hold  her  at  the  altar." 

When  he  had  concluded  this  soliloquy,  Ellen  Connor, 
without  whose  society  Helen  could  now  scarcely  live,  and 
who,  on  this  account,  had  not  been  discharged  after  her 
,  elopement,  she,  we  say,  entered  the  room,  her  eye  resolute 
with  determination,  and  sparkling  with  a  feeling  which 
evinced  an  indignant  sense  of  his  cruelty,  in  enforcing  this 
odious  match.  The  old  man  looked  at  her  with  surprise, 
for  it  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  ventured  to  obtrude 


326  WILLY  REILLY. 

her  conversation  upon  him,  or  to  speak,  unless  when- 
spoken  to. 

"Well,  madam,"  said  he,  "what  do  you  want]  Have 
you  any  message  from  your  mistress  ?  if  not,  what  brings 
you  here?" 

"  I  have  no  message  from  my  mistress,"  she  replied,  in 
a  loud,  if  not  in  a  vehement  voice ;  "  I  don't  think  my 
mistress  is  capable  of  sending  a  message;  but  I  came  to 
tell  you  that  the  God  of  heaven  will  soon  send  you  a 
message,  and  a  black  one,  too,  if' you  allow  this  cursed 
marriage  to  go  on." 

"Get  outj  you  jade — leave  the  room;  how  i3  it  your 
affair  V1 

"  Because  I  have  what  you  want — a  heart  of  pity  and 
affection  in  my  breast.  Do  you  want  to  drive  your 
daughter  mad,  or  to  take  her  life  V 

"Begone,  you  impudent  hussey;  why  do  you  dare  to 
conies  here  on  such  an  occasion,  only  to  annoy  me  1" 

"X  will  not  begone,"  she  replied,  with  a  glowing  cheek, 
"unless  I  am  pub  out  by  force — until  I  point  out  the  con- 
sequences of  your  selfish  tyranny  and  weakness.  I  don't 
come  to  annoy  you,  but  I  come  to  warn  you,  and  to  tell 
you,  that  I  know  your  daughter  better  thau  you  do  your- 
self. This  marriage  must  not  go  on ;  or,  if  it  does,  send 
without  delay  to  a  lunatic  asylum  for  a  keeper  for  that 
only  daughter.  I  know  her  well,  and  I  tell  you  that  that's 
what  it'll  come  to." 

The  Squire  had  never  been  in  the  habit  of  being  thus 
addressed  by  any  of  his  servants  ;  and  the  consequence  was 
that  the  thing  was  new  to  him ;  so  much  so,  that  he  felt 
not  only  annoyed,  but  so  much  astounded,  that  he  abso- 
lutely lost,  for  a  brief  period,  the  use  of  his  speech.  He 
looked  at  her  with  astonishment — then  about  tka  room — 
then  up  at  the  ceiling,  and  at  length  spoke : 

"What  the  deuce  does  all  this  mean1?  What  are  you 
driving  at  1     Prevent  the  marriage,  you  say  1" 

"  If  the  man,"  proceeded  Connor,  not  even  waiting  to 
give  him  an  answer — "if  the  man  had  but  one  good  point 
—one  good  quality — one  virtue  in  his  whole  composition  to 
redeem  him  from  contempt  and  hatred — if  he  had  but  one 
feature   in  his   face   only  as  handsome  as  the  worst  you 


WILLY  REILLY.  327 

<jould  find  in  the  devil's — yes,  if  he  had  but  one  good 
thought,  or  one  good  feature  in  either  his  soul  or  body, 
why — vile  as  it  would  be — and  barbarous  as  it  would  be— 
and  shameful  and  cruel  as  it  would  be — still,  it  would 
have  the  one  good  thought,  and  the  one  good  feature  to 
justify  it.  But  here,  in  this  deep  and  wretched  villain, 
there  is  nothing  but  one  mass  of  vice,  and  crime,  and 
deformity ;  all  that  the  eye  can  see,  or  the  heart  discover, 
in  his  soul  or  body,  is  as  black,  odious,  and  repulsive  as 
could  be  conceived  of  the  worst  imp  of  perdition.  And 
this  is  the  man — the  persecutor — the  miser — the  debauchee 
— the  hypocrite — the  murderer,  and  the  coward,  that  you 
are  going  to  join  your  good — virtuous — spotless — and  beau- 
tiful daughter  to  !  Oh,  shame  upon  you,  you  heartless  old 
man  ;  don't  dare  to  say,  or  pretend,  that  you  love  her  as  a 
father  ought,  when  you  would  sacrifice  her  to  so  base  and 
damnable  a  villain  as  that.  And  again,  and  what  is  more, 
I  tell  you  not  to  prosecute  Reilly  ;  for,  as  sure  as  the  Lord 
above  is  in  heaven,  your  daughter  is  lost,  and  you'll  not 
only  curse  Whitecraft,  but  the  day  and  hour  in  which  you 
were  born — black  and  hopeless  will  be  your  doom  if  you 
do.  And  now,  sir,  I  have  done  ;  I  felt  it  to  be  my  duty  to 
tell  you  this,  and  to  warn  you  against  what  I  know  will 
happen  unless  you  go  back  upon  the  steps  you  have  taken." 

She  then  curtsied  to  him  respectfully,  and  left  the  room 
in  a  burst  of  grief  which  seized  her  when  she  had  con- 
cluded. 

Ellen  Connor  was  a  girl  by  no  means  deficient  in  educa- 
tion— thanks  to  the  care  and  kindness  of  the  Gooleen  Baivny 
who  had  herself  instructed  her.  'Tis  true,  she  had  in 
ordinary  and  familiar  conversation  a  touch  of  the  brogue; 
but,  when  excited,  or  holding  converse  with  respectable 
persons,  her  language  was  such  as  would  have  done  no 
discredit  to  many  persons  in  a  much  higher  rank  of  life. 

After  she  had  left  the  room,  Folliard  looked  towards  the 
door  by  which  she  had  taken  her  exit,  as  if  he  had  her 
still  in  his  vision.  He  paused — he  meditated — he  walked 
about,  and  seemed  taken  thoroughly  aback. 

"  By  earth  and  sky,"  he  exclaimed,  "  but  that's  the  most 
comical  affair  I  have  seen  yet.  Comical !  no,  not  a  touch 
of  comicality  in  it.    Zounds,  is  it  possible  that  the  jade  has 


328  WILLY  REILLY. 

coerced  and  beaten  me? — dared  to  beard  the  lion  in  his 
own  den — to  strip  him,  as  it  were,  of  his  claws,  and  to  pull 
the  very  fangs  out  of  his  jaws,  and,  after  all,  to  walk  away 
in  triumph  ?  Hang  me,  but  I  must  have  a  strong  touch  of 
the  coward  in  me  or  I  would  not  have  knuckled  as  I  did  to 
the  jade.  Yet,  hold — can  I,  or  ought  I  to  be  angry  with 
her,  when  I  know  that  this  hellish  racket  all  proceeded 
from  her  love  to  Helen  ?  Hang  me,  but  she's  a  precious  bit 
of  goods,  and  I'll  contrive  to  make  her  a  present,  somehow, 
for  her  courage.     Beat  me !  by  sun  and  sky  she  did." 

He  then  proceeded  to  Helen's  chamber,  and  ordered  her 
attendants  out  of  the  room  ;  but,  on  looking  at  her,  he  felt 
surprised  to  perceive  that  her  complexion,  instead  of  being 
pale,  was  quite  flushed,  and  her  eyes  flashing  with  a  strange 
wild  light  that  he  had  never  seen  in  them  before. 

"  Helen,"  said  he,  "  what's  the  matter,  love  ?  Are  you 
unwell?" 

She  placed  her  two  snowy  hands  on  her  temples,  and 
pressed  them  tightly,  as  if  striving  to  compress  her  brain, 
and  bring  it  within  the  influence  of  reason. 

"  I  fear  you  are  unwell,  darling,"  he  continued ;  "  you 
look  flushed  and  feverish.  Don't,  however,  be  alarmed; 
if  you're  not  well,  I'd  see  that  knave  of  a  fellow  hanged 
before  I'd  marry  you  to  him,  and  you  in  that  state.  The 
thing's  out  of  the  question,  my  darling  Helen,  and  must 
not  be  done.  No;  God  forbid  that  I  should  be  the  means 
of  murdering  my  only  child." 

So  much,  we  may  fairly  presume,  proceeded  from  the 
pithy  lecture  of  Ellen  Connor,  but  the  truth  was,  that  the 
undefinable  old  Squire  was  the  greatest  parental  coward  in 
the  world.  In  the  absence  of  his  daughter,  he  would  rant, 
and  swear,  and  vapour,  strike  the  ground  with  his  staff, 
and  give  other  indications  of  the  most  extraordinary  reso- 
lution, combined  with  fiery  passion,  that  seemed  alarming. 
No  sooner,  however,  did  he  go  into  her  presence,  and  con- 
template not  only  her  wonderful  beauty,  but  her  goodness, 
her  tenderness  and  affection  for  himself,  than  the  bluster 
departed  from  him,  his  resolution  fell,  his  courage  oozed 
away,  and  he  felt  that  he  was  fairly  subdued ;  under  which 
circumstances  he  generally  entered  into  a  new  treaty  of 
friendship  and  affection  with  the  enemy.  - 


WILLY  REILLY.  529 

''  Helen's  head  was  aching  dreadfully,  and  she  felt  feverish 
and  distracted.  Her  father's  words,  however,  and  the 
affection  which  they  expressed,  went  to  her  heart;  she 
threw  her  arms  about  him,  kissed  him,  and  was  relieved  by 
a  copious  flood  of  tears. 

" Papa,"  she  said,  " you  are  both  kind  and  good;  surely 
you  wouldn't  kill  your  poor  Helen  V 

"  Me  kill  you,  Helen ! — oh,  no,  faith.  If  Whitecraft 
were  hanged  to-morrow,  it  wouldn't  give  me  half  so  much 
pain  as  if  your  little  finger  ached." 

Just  at  this  progress  of  the  dialogue,  a  smart  and 
impatient  knock  came  to  the  door. 

"  Who  is  that  ?"  said  the  Squire  :  t '  come  in — or,  stay  till 
I  see  who  you  are."  He  then  opened  the  door  and 
exclaimed — "  What !  Lanigan  ! — why,  you  infernal  old 
scoundrel !  how  dare  you  have  the  assurance  to  look  me  in 
the  face,  or  to  come  under  my  roof  at  all,  after  what  I  said 
to  you  about  the  pistols?" 

"  Ay,  but  you  don't  know  the  good  news  I  have  for  you 
and  Miss  Helen." 

"  Oh,  Lanigan,  is  Reilly  safe  ? — is  he  set  at  large  %  Oh, 
I  am  sure  he  must  be.  Never  was  so  noble,  so  pure,  and 
€o  innocent  a  heart." 

"Curse  him,  look  at  the  eye  of  him,"  said  her  father, 
pointing  his  cane  at  Lanigan,  "  it's  like  the  eye  of  a  sharp- 
shooter.    What  are  you  grinning  at,  you  old  scoundrel!" 

"  Didn't  you  expect  Sir  Eobert  Whitecraft  here  to-day, 
to  marry  Miss  Folliard,  sir  V 

"  I  did,  sirra,  and  I  do — he'll  be  here  immediately." 

"Devil  a  foot  he'll  come  to-day,  I  can  tell  you:  and 
that's  the  way  he  treats  your  daughter !" 

"  What  does  this  old  idiot  mean,  Helen  1  Have  you 
been  drinking,  sirra  ?" 

"Not  yet,  sir,  put  plaise  the  Lord  I'll  soon  be  at  it." 

"  Lanigan,"  said  Helen,  "  will  you  state  at  once  what  you 
have  to  say  V- :       . 

"  t  will,  Miss ;  but  first  and  foremost,  I  must  show  you 
how  to  dance  the  'Little  house  under  the  hill,'"  and  as  he 
*pokei  he  commenced  whistling  that  celebrated  air,  and 
dancing  to  it  with  considerable  alacrity  and  vigour  making 
allowances  for  his  age.  i    ' 


330,  WILLY  REILLY. 

The  father  and  daughter  looked  at  each  other,  and 
Helen,  notwithstanding  her  broken  spirits,  could  not  avoid 
smiling.  Lanigan  continued  the  dance ;  kept  wheeling 
about  to  all  parts  of  the  room,  like  an  old  mad-cap; 
cutting,  capering,  and  knocking  up  his  heels  against  his 
ham,  with  a  vivacity  that  was  a  perfect  mystery  to  his  two 
spectators,  as  was  his  whole  conduct. 

"  Now,  you  drunken  old  scoundrel,"  said  his  master, 
catching  him  by  the  collar  and  flourishing  the  cane  over 
his  head,  "if  you  don't  give  a  direct  answer  I  will  cane 
you  within  an  inch  of  your  life.  What  do  you  mean  when 
you  say  that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraffc  won't  come  here  to- 
day?" 

"  Bekaise,  sir,  it  isn't  convanient  to  him." 
"  Why  isn't  it  convenient,  you  scoundrel  V* 
"Bekaise,  sir,  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  try  a  change 
of  air  for  the  benefit  of  his  health,  before  he  starts  upon 
his  journey;  and  as  he  got  a  very  friendly  invitation  to 
spend  some  time  in  Sligo  gaol,  he  accepted  it,  and  if  you  go 
there  you  will  find  him  before  you.  It  seems  he  started 
this  morning  in  great  state,  with  two  nice  men  belonging 
to  the  law  in  the  carriage  with  him,  to  see  that  he  should 
want  for  nothing,  and  a  party  of  cavalry  surroundin'  his 
honour's  coach,  as  if  he  was  one  of  the  Judges  or  the  Lord 
Lieutenant," 

The  figurative  style  of  his  narrative  would  unquestion- 
ably have  caused  him  to  catch  the  weight  of  the  cane 
aforesaid,  had  not  Helen  interfered,  and  saved  him  for 
the  nonce. 

"  Let  me  at  him,  Helen,  let  me  at  him — the  drunken  old 
rip;  why  does  he  dare  to  humbug  us  in  this  manner V 

"  Well,  then,  sir,  if  you  wish  to  hear  the  good  news,  and 
especially  you,  Miss  Folliard,  it  will  probably  relieve  your 
heart  when  I  tell  you  that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  is,  before 
this  time,  in  the  gaol  of  Sligo,  for  a  charge  of  murdher,  and 
for  burnin'  Mr.  Reilly's  house  and  premises,  which  it  now 
seem3  aren't  Mr.  Reilly's  at  all — nor  ever  were — but  belong 
to  Mr.  Hastings." 

"  Good  heavens !"  exclaimed  the  Squire,  "  this  is  dread- 
ful :  but  is  it  true,  sirra  V* 

"  Why,  sir,  if  you  go  to  his  house  you'll  find  it  so." 


WILLY  REILLY.  331 

"Oh,  papa,"  said  Helen,  "surely  they  wouldn't  hang 
turn  r 

"Hang  him,  Helen;  why,  Helen,  the  tide's  turned; 
they  want  to  make  him  an  example  for  the  outrages  that 
he  and  others  have  committed  against  the  unfortunate 
Papists.  Hang  him ! — as  I  live,  he  and  the  Red  Rapparee 
will  both  swing  from  the  same  gallows;  but  there  is  one 
thing  I  say — if  he  hangs  I  shall  take  care  that  that 
obstinate  scoundrel,  Reilly,  shall  also  swing  along  with 
him." 

Helen  became  as  pale  as  ashes,  the  flush  had  disappeared 
from  her  countenance,  and  she  burst  again  into  tears. 

"  Oh,  papa,"  she  exclaimed,  "  spare  Reilly :  he  is  inno- 
cent." 

"  I'll  hang  him,"  he  replied,  "  if  it  should  cost  me  ten 
thousand  pounds.  Go  you,  sirra,  and  desire  one  of  the, 
grooms  to  saddle  me  Black  Tom,  he  is  the  fastest  horse  in 
my  stables ;  I  cannot  rest  till  I  ascertain  the  truth  of  this." 

On  passing  the  drawing-room  he  looked  in,  and  found 
Mr.  Strong  and  the  two  Misses  Ashford  waiting,  the  one  to 
perform,  and  the  others  to  attend  at  the  ceremony. 

"Mr.  Strong  and  ladies,"  said  he,  with  looks  of  great 
distraction,  "  I  fear  there  will  be  no  marriage  here  to-day. 
An  accident,  I  believe,  has  happened  to  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft,  that  will  prevent  his  being  a  party  in  the  ceremony, 
for  this  day  at  least." 

"  An  accident !"  exclaimed  the  ladies  and  the  clergyman. 
"  Praj%  Mr.  Folliard,  what  is  it  %  how  did  it  happen  V' 

"I  am  just  going  to  ride  over  to  Sir  Robert's  to  learn 
everything  about  it,"  he  replied ;  "  I  will  be  but  a  short 
time  absent.  But  how  !"  he  added,  "here's  his  butler,  and 
I  will  get  everything  from  him. — Oh,  Thomas,  is  this  you  ] 
follow  me  to  my  study,  Thomas." 

As  the  reader  already  knows  all  that  Thomas  could  tell 
him,  it  is  only  necessary  to  say  that  he  returned  to  the 
drawing-room  with  a  sad  and  melancholy  aspect. 

"There  is  no  use,"  said  he,  addressing  them,  "in  con- 
cealing what  will  soon  be  known  to  the  world.  Sir  Robert, 
Whitecraft  has  been  arrested,  on  a  charge  of  murder  and 
arson,  and  is  now  a  prisoner  in  the  county  gaol." 

This  was  startling  intelligence  to  them  all,  especially  to 


&32  WILLY  REILLY." 

the  parson,  who  found  that  the  hangman  was  likely  to  cut 
him  out  of  his  fees.  The.  ladies  screamed,  and  said,  "  It 
was  a  shocking  thing  to  have  that  delightful  man  hanged;" 
and  then  asked  if  the  bride  elect  had  heard  it. 
'  "  She  has  heard  it,"  replied  her  father,  "and  I  have  just 
left  her  in  tears ;  but,  upon  my  soul,  I  don't  think  there  is 
one  of  them  shed  for  him. — Well,  Mr.  Strong,  I  believe, 
after  all,  there  is  likely  to  be  no  marriage  ;  but  that  is  not 
your  fault,  you  came  here  to  do  your  duty,  and  I  think  it 
only  just— a  word  with  you  in  the  next  apartment,"  he 
added  ;  and  then  led  the  way  to  the  dining-room.  "  I  was 
about  to  say,  Mr.  Strong,  that  it  would  be  neither  just  nor 
reasonable  to  deprive  you  of  your  fees ;  here  is  a  ten 
pound  note,  and  it  would  have  been  tnreuty,  had  the 
marriage  taken  place.  I  must  go  to  Sligo,  to  see  the 
unfortunate  baronet,  and  try  what  can  be  done  for  him; 
that  is,  if  anything  can,  which  I  greatly  doubt." 

The  parson  protested  against  the  receipt  of  the  ten 
pound  note,  very  much  in  the  style  of  a  bashful  schoolboy, 
who  pretends  to  refuse  an  apple  from  a  strauge  relation, 
when  he  comes  to  pay  a  visit,  whilst,  at  the  same  time,  the 
young  monkey's  chops  are  watering  for  it.  With  some 
faint  show  of  reluctance,  he  at  length  received  it,  and,  need 
we  say,  that  it  soon  disappeared  in  one  of  his  sanctified 
pockets. 

"Strong,  my  dear  fellow,"  proceeded  the  Squire,  "you 
will  take  a  seat  with  these  ladies  in  their  carriage,  and  see 
them  home." 

"  I  would,  with  pleasure,  my  dear  friend,  but  that  I  am 
called  upon  to  console  poor  Mrs.  Smellpriest  for  the  loss  of 
the  captain." 

**  The  captain!  why,  what  has  happened  him?" 

"  Alas  !  sir,  an  unexpected  and  uuhappy  fate,  He  went 
out  last  night  a  priest-hunting,  like  a  godly  sportsman  of 
tbe  Church,  as  he  was,  and,  on  his  return  from  an  unsuc- 
cessful chase,  fell  off  his  horse  while  in  the  act  of  singing 
that  far-famed  melody  called  Lillibullero,  and  sustained  such 
severe  injuries,  that  he  died  on  that  very  night,  expressing 
a  very  ungodly  penitence  for  his  loyalty  in  persecuting  so 
many  treasonable  Popish  priests. 
r-  The  Squire  seemed  amazed,  and  after  a  pause,  said : 


WILLY  REILLY.  333 

"He  repented,  you  say:  upon  my  soiil,  then,  I  am  glad 
to  hear  it,  for  it  is  more  than  I  expected  from  him,  and, 
between  you  and  me,  Strong,  I  fear  it  must  have  taken  a 
devilish  large  extent  of  repentance  to  clear  him  from  the 
crimes  he  committed  against  both  priests  and  Popery." 

"  Ah,"  replied  Strong,  with  a  groan  of  deep  despondency, 
"but,  unfortunately,  my  dear  sir,  he  did  not  repent  of  his 
sins — that  is  the  worst  of  it — Satan  must  have  tempted 
him  to  transfer  his  repentance  to  those  very  acts  of  his  life 
upon  which,  as  a  Christian  champion,  he  should  have 
depended  for  justification  above — I  mean,  devoting  his 
great  energies  so  zealously  to  the  extermination  of  idolatry 
and  error.  What  was  it,  but  repenting  for  his  chief 
virtues,  instead  of  relying,  like  a  brave  and  dauntless 
soldier  of  our  Establishment,  upon  his  praiseworthy  exer- 
tions to  rid  it  of  its  insidious  and  relentless  enemies  V 

The  Squire  looked  at  him. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  Strong — by  the  great  Boyne,  I'd 
give  a  trifle  to  see  you  get  a  smart  touch  of  persecution  in 
your  own  person— it  might  teach  you  a  little  more  charity 
towards  those  who  differ  with  you ;  but,  upon  my  honour, 
if  any  change  in  our  national  parties  should  soon  take 
place,  and  that  the  Papists  should  get  the  upper  hand,  I 
tell  you  to  your  teeth,  that  if  ever  your  fat  ribs  should 
be  tickled  by  the  whip  of  persecution,  they  would  render 
you  great  injustice  who  should  do  it  for  the  sake  of  religion. 
— a  commodity  with  which  I  see,  from  the  spirit  of  your 
present  sentiments,  you  are  not  overburdened.  However, 
in  the  meantime,  I  dare  say  that  whatever  portion  you 
possess  of  it,  you  will  charitably  expend  in  consoling  his 
widow,  as  you  say.     Good  morning !" 

We  must  return,  however,  to  the  close  of  Smeilpriest's 
very  sudden  and  premature  departure  from  the  scene  of 
his  cruel  and  merciless  labours.  Having  reached  the  stripe- 
already  described  to  him  by  Mr.  Strong,  and  to  which  he 
was  guided  by  his  men,  he  himself  having  been  too  far 
advanced  in  liquor  to  make  out  his  way  with  any  kind  of 
certainty,  he  proceeded,  still  under  their  direction,  to  tha- 
cottage  adjoining,,  which  was  immediately  surrounded  by 
the  troopers.    After  knocking  at  the  door !  with  violence, 


334  WILLY  REILLY. 

and  demanding  instant  admittance,  under  the  threat  of 
smashing  it  in,  and  burning  the  house  as  a  harbour  for 
rebellious  priests,  the  door  was  immediately  opened  by  a 
grey-headed  old  man,  feeble  and  decrepid  in  appearance, 
but  yet  without  any  manifestation  of  terror  either  in  his 
voice  or  features.  He  held  a  candle  in  his  hand,  and 
asked  them,  in  a  calm  composed  voice,  what  it  was  they 
wanted,  and  why  they  thus  came  to  disturb  him  and  his 
family  at  such  au  unseasonable  hour. 

"Why,  you  treasonable  old  scoundrel,"  shouted  Smell- 
priest,  "  haven't  you  got  a  rebel  and  recusant  Popish  priest 
in  the  house  1  I  say,  you  grey-headed  old  villain,  turn  him 
out  on  the  instant,  or,  if  you  hesitate  but  half  a  minute, 
we'll  make  a  bonfire  of  you,  him,  the  house,  and  all  that's 
in  it.  Zounds,  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  burn  a  house  as 
well  as  Whitecraft;  that  cursed  baronet  is  getting  ahead 
of  me,  but  I  think  I  am  entitled  to  a  bonfire  as  well  as  he 
is. — Shall  we  burn  the  house?'  he  added,  addressing  his 
men. 

"I  think  you  had  better  not,  Captain,"  replied  the 
principal  of  them;  "recollect  there  are  new  regulations 
now.  It  wouldn't  be  safe,  and  might  only  end  in  hanging 
every  man  of  us — yourself  among  the  rest." 

"  But  why  doesn't  the  old  rebel  produce  the  priest  ?" 
asked  their  leader.  "  Come  here,  sirra — hear  me — produce 
that  lurking  priest  immediately." 

"I  don't  exactly  understand  you,  Captain,"  replied  the 
old  man,  who  appeared  to  know  Smellpriest  right  well;  "I 
don't  think  it's  to  my  house  you  should  come  to  look  for  a 
priest." 

M  Why  not,  you  villain  ?  I  have  been  directed  here,  and 
told  that  I  would  find  my  game  under  your  roof." 

"  In  the  first  place,"  replied  the  old  man,  with  a  firm 
and  intrepid  voice,  "  I  am  no  villain ;  and  in  the  next,  I 
say,  that  if  any  man  directed  you  to  this  house  in  quest  of 
a  priest,  he  must  have  purposely  sent  you  upon  a  fool's 
errand.  I  am  a  Protestant,  Captain  Smellpriest;  but, 
Protestant  as  I  am,  I  tell  you  to  your  face,  that  if  I  could 
give  shelter  to  a  poor  persecuted  priest,  and  save  him  from 
the  clutches  of  such  men  as  you  and  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft, 
I  would  do  it.     In  the  meantim »,  there  is  neither  priest 


WILLY  REILLY.  335 

nor  friar  under  this  roof — you  can  come  in  and  search  the 
house,  if  you  wish." 

"  Why,  gog's  ouns,  father,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  men, 
*'  how  does  it  come  that  we  find  you  here  1" 

"Very  simply,  John,"  replied  his  father — for  such  he 
was — "  I  took  this  cottage,  and  the  bit  of  land  that  goes 
with  it,  from  honest  Andy  Morrow,  and  we  are  not  many 
hours  in  it.  The  house  was  empty  for  the  last  six  months, 
so  that  I  say  again,  whoever  sent  Captain  Smelipriest  here, 
sent  him  upon  a  fool's  errand — upon  a  wild-goose  chase." 

The  gallant  captain  started  upon  hearing  these  latter 
words. 

"What  does  he  say,"  he  asked — "a  wild-goose  chase! 
Eight — right,"  he  added,  in  a  soliloquy,  "  Strong  is  at  the 
bottom  of  it,  the  black  scoundrel !  but  still,  let  us  search 
the  house ;  the  old  fellow  admits  that  he  would  shelter  a 
priest.     Search  the  house,  I  say. 

"  'There  was  an  old  prophecy  found  in  a  bog, 

Lillibullero,  bullen  ala,  etc.,  etc.'" 

The  house  was  accordingly  searched,  but  it  is  unnecessary 
to  add,  that  neither  priest  nor  friar  was  found  under  the 
roof,  nor  any  nook  or  corner  in  which  either  one  or  the 
other  could  have  been  concealed. 

The  party,  who  then  directed  their  steps  homewards, 
were  proceeding  across  the  fields  to  the  mountain  road 
which  ran  close  by,  and  parallel  with  the  stripe,  when  they 
perceived  at  once  that  Smelipriest  was  in  a  rage,  by  the 
fact  of  his  singing  Lillibullero ;  for,  whenever  either  his 
rage  or  loyalty  happened  to  run  high,  he  uniformly  made  a 
point  to  indulge  himself  in  singing  that  celebrated  ballad. 

"By  jabers,"  said  one  of  them  to  his  companion,  "there 
will  be  a  battle  royal  between  the  captain  and  Mr.  Strong, 
if  he  finds  the  parson  at  home  before  him." 

"If  there  won't  be  a  fight  with,  the  parson,  there  will 
with  the  wife,"  replied  the  other.  "  Hang  the «  same 
parson,"  he  added— "many  a  dreary  chase  he  has  sent  us 
upon,  with  nothing  but  the  fatigue  of  a  dark  and  slavish 
journey  for  our  pains.  With  what  bitterness  he's  giving 
Us  Lillibullero,  and  he  scarcely  able  to  sit  on  his  horse.     I 


336  WILLY  REILLY. 

think  Til  advance;  and  ride  beside  him,  otherwise  he  may- 
get  an  ugly  tumble  on  this  hard  road." 

t    He  accordingly  did  so,  observing,  as  he  got  near  him 

"  I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  ride  close  beside  you,  lest,  aS 
the  night  is  dark,  your  horse  might  stumble." 

"What!  do  you  think  I'm  drunk,  you  scoundrel? — fall 
back,  sir,  immediately." 

'"Lillibullero,  bullen  ala.' 

"  I  say  I'm  not  drunk ;  but  I'm  in  a  terrible  passion  at 
that  treacherous  scoundrel ;  but,  no  matter,  I  saw  some- 
thing to-night — never  mind,  I  say. 

"  '  There  was  an  old  prophecy  found  in  a  bog, 

Lillibullero,  bullen  ala ; 
That  Ireland  should  be  ruled  by  an  Ass  and  a  Dog, 

Lillibullero,  bullen  ala. 
And  now  that  same  prophecy  has  come  to  pass — 

Lillibullero,  bullen  ala  ; 
For  Talbot's  the  Dog,  and  James  is  the  Ass. 

Lillibullero,  bullen  ala.' 

"  Never  mind,  I  say ;  hang  me,  but  I'll  crop  the  villain,  or 
crop  both,  which  is  better  still— steady,  Schomberg— curse 
you."  , 

The  same  rut  or  chasm  across  the  more  open  road  on 
which  they  had  now  got  out,  and  that  had  nearly  been  so, 
fatal  to  Mr.  Brown,  became  decidedly  so  to  unfortunate 
Smellpriest.  The  horse,  as  his  rider  spoke,  stopped  sud-_ 
denly,  and,  shying  quickly  to  the  one  side,  the  captain  was 
pitched  off,  and  fell  with  his  whole  weight  upon  the  hard 
pavement.  The  man  was  an  unwieldy,  and,  consequently, 
a  heavy  man,  and  the  unexpected  fall  stunned  him  into 
insensibility.  After  about  ten  minutes  or  so,  he  recovered, 
his  consciousness,  however,  and  having  been  once  more 
placed  upon  his  horse,  was  conducted  home,  two  or  three 
of  his  men,  with  much  difficulty,  enabling  him  to  maintain 
his  seat  in  the  saddle.  In  this  manner  they  reached  his 
house,  where  they  stripped  and  put  him  to  bed,  having 
observed,  to  their  consternation,  that  strong  gushes  of 
blood  welled,  every  three  or  four  minutes,  from  his  mouth. 

The  grief  of  his  faithful  wife  was  outrageous;  and  Mr* 
Strong,  who  was  still  there  kindly  awaiting  his  safe  return, 


WILLY  REILLY.  337 

endeavoured  to  compose  her  distraction  as  well  as  he 
could. 

"  My  dear  Madam,"  said  he,  "  why  will  you  thus  permit 
your  grief  to  overcome  you?  You  will  most  assuredly 
injure  your  own  precious  health  by  this  dangerous  outburst 
of  sorrow.  The  zealous  and  truly  loyal  captain  is  not,  I 
trust,  seriously  injured ;  he  will  recover,  under  God,  in  a 
few  days.  You  may  rest  assured,  my  dear  Mrs.  Smell- 
priest,  that  his  life  is  too  valuable  to  be  taken  at  this 
unhappy  period.  No,  he  will,  I  trust  and  hope,  be  spared 
until  a  strong  anti-Popish  Government  shall  come  in,  when, 
if  he  is  to  lose  it,  he  will  lose  it  in  some  great  and  godly 
exploit  against  the  Harlot  of  Abominations." 

"  Alas !  my  dear  Mr.  Strong,  that  is  all  very  kind  of  you, 
to  support  my  breaking  heart  with  such  comfort;  but, 
when  he  is  gone,  what  will  become  of  me  1" 

"You  will  not  be  left  desolate,  my  dear  Madam — you 
will  be  supported — cheered — consoled.  Captain,  my  friend, 
how  do  you  feel  now  1     Are  you  easier  V 

"I  am,"  replied  the  Captain,  feebly — for  he  had  not  lost 
his  speech — "come  near  me,  Strong." 

"  With  pleasure,  dear  Captain,  as  becomes  my  duty,  not 
only  as  a  friend,  but  as  an  humble  and  unworthy  minister 
of  religion.  I  trust  you  are  not  in  danger,  but,  under  any 
circumstances,  it  is  best,  you  know,  to  be  prepared  for  the 
worst.  Do  not  then  be  cast  down,  nor  allow  your  heart  to 
sink  into  despair.  B-emember  that  you  have  acted  the 
part  of  a  zealous  and  faithful  champion  on  behalf  of  our 
holy  Church,  and  that  you  have  been  a  blessed  scourge  of 
Popery  in  this  Pope-ridden  country.  Let  that  reflection, 
then,  be  your  consolation.  Think  of  the  many  priests  you 
have  hunted — and  hunted  successfully,  too ;  think  of  how 
many  bitter  Papists  of  every  class  you  have  been  the 
blessed  means  of  committing  to  the  justice  of  our  laws ; 
think  of  the  numbers  of  Popish  priests  and  bishops  you 
have,  in  the  faithful  discharge  of  your  pious  duty,  com- 
mitted to  chains,  imprisonment,  transportation,  and  the 
scaffold, — think  of  all  these  things,  I  say,  and  take  comfort 
to  your  soul  by  the  retrospect.  Would  you  wish  to  receive 
the  rites  and  consolations  of  religion  at  my  hands  V 

"  Come  near  me,  Strong,"  repeated  Sinellpriest.     "  The 

Y 


338  WILLY  REILLY. 

rites  of  religion  from  you — the  rights  of  perdition  as  soon, 
you  hypocritical  scoundrel ;"  and  as  he  spoke  he  caught  a 
gush  of  blood  as  it  issued  from  his  mouth  and  flung  it  with 
all  the  strength  he  had  left  right  into  the  clergyman's  face. 
"  Take  that,  you  villain,"  he  added ;  "  I  die  in  every  sense 
with  my  blood  upon  you.  And  as  for  my  hunting  of 
priests  and  Papists,  it  is  the  only  thing  that  lies  at  this 
moment  heavy  over  my  heart.  And  as  for  that  wife  of 
mine,  I'm  sorry  she's  not  in  my  place.  I  know,  of  course, 
I'll  be  damned;  but  it  can't  be  helped  now.  If  I  go  down, 
as  down  I  will  go,  won't  I  have  plenty  of  friends  to  keep 
me  in  countenance.  I  know — I  feel  I'm  dying;  but  I 
must  take  the  consequences.  In  the  meantime,  my  best 
word  and  wish  is,  that  that  vile  jade  shan't  be  permitted  to 
approach  or  touch  my  body  after  I  am  dead.  My  curse 
upon  you  both !  for  you  brought  me  to  this  untimely  death 
between  you." 

"  Why,  my  dear  Smellpriest "  exclaimed  the  wife. 

"  Don't  call  me  Smellpriest,"  he  replied,  interrupting 
her,  "my  name  is  Norbury.  But  it  doesn't  matter — it's 
all  up  with  me,  and  I  know  it  will  soon  be  all  down  with 
me ;  for  down,  down  I'll  go.  Strong,  you  hypocritical 
scoundrel,  don't  be  a  persecutor ;  look  at  me  on  the  very 
brink  of  perdition  for  it.  And  now  the  only  comfort  I 
have  is,  that  I  let  the  poor  Popish  bishop  off.  I  could  not 
shoot  him,  or  at  any  rate  make  a  prisoner  of  him,  and  he 
engaged  in  the  worship  of  G-od." 

"Alas  1"  whispered  Strong,  "  the  poor  man  is  verging  on 
rank  Popery — he  is  hopeless." 

"  But,  Tom,  dear,"  said  the  wife,  "  why  are  you  dis- 
pleased with  me,  your  own  faithful  partner  1  I  that  was  so 
loving  and  affectionate  to  you?  I  that  urged  you  on  in 
the  path  of  duty?  I  that  scoured  your  arms  and  regi- 
mentals with  my  own  hands — that  mixed  you  your  punch 
before  you  went  after  the  black  game,  as  you  used  to  say, 
and  again,  had  it  ready  for  you  when  you  returned  to 
precious  Mr.  Strong  and  me  after  a  long  hunt.  Don't  die 
in  anger  with  your  own  Grizzey,  as  you  used  to  call  me, 
my  dear  Tom,  or  if  you  do,  I  feel  that  I  won't  long  survive 
you." 

"Ah!  you  jade,"  replied  Tom,  "didn't  I  see  the  wink 


WILLY   REILLY.  339 

between  you  to-night,  although  you  thought  I  was  drunk  1 
Ah,  these  wild-goose  chases  I " 

"  Tom,  dear,  we  are  both  innocent.  Oh,  forgive  your 
own  Grizzey!" 

"  So  I  do,  you  jade — my  curse  on  you  both." 

Whether  it  was  the  effort  necessary  to  speak,  in  addition 
to  the  excitement  occasioned  by  his  suspicions,  and  whether 
these  suspicions  were  well  founded  or  not,  we  do  not 
presume  to  say ;  but  the  fact  was,  that,  after  another  out- 
gulp  of  blood  had  come  up,  he  drew  a  long  deep  sigh,  his 
under-jaw  fell,  and  the  wretched  half-penitent,  Captain 
Smellpriest,  breathed  his  last.  After  which,  his  wife, 
whether  from  sorrow  or  remorse,  became  insensible,  and 
remained  in  that  state  for  a  considerable  time;  but  at 
length  she  recovered,  and,  after  expressing  the  most  violent 
sorrow,  literally  drove  the  Eev.  Mr.  Strong  out  of  the 
house,  with  many  deep  and  bitter  curses. 

But  to  return. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  parties  dispersed,  and  Folliard,  too 
much  absorbed  in  the  fates  of  Keilly  and  Whitecraft,  pre- 
pared to  ride  to  Sligo,  to  ascertain  if  anything  could  be 
done  for  the  baronet.  In  the  meantime,  while  he,  and  his 
old  friend  Cummiskey,  are  on  their  way  to  see  that  gentle- 
man, we  will  ask  the  attention  of  our  readers  to  the  state 
of  Helen's  mind,  as  it  was  affected  by  the  distressing  events 
which  had  so  rapidly  and  recently*  occurred.  We  need  not 
assure  them,  that  deep  anxiety  for  the  fate  of  her  unfortu- 
nate lover  lay  upon  her  heart  like  the  gloom  of  death  itself. 
His  image  and  his  natural  nobility  of  character,  but,  above 
all,  the  purity  and  delicacy  of  his  love  for  herself;  his 
manly  and  faithful  attachment  to  his  religion,  under  temp- 
tations which  few  hearts  could  resist — temptations  of  which 
she  herself  was,  beyond  all  comparison,  the  most  trying 
and  the  most  difficult  to  be  withstood ;  his  refusal  to  leave 
the  country  on  her  account,  even  when  the  bloodhounds  of 
the  law  were  pursuing  him  to  his  death  in  every  direction; 
and  the  reflection  that  this  resolution  of  abiding  by  her, 
and  watching  over  her  welfare  and  happiness,  and  guard- 
ing her,  as  far  as  he  could,  from  domestic  persecution ;  all 
these  reflections,  in  short,  crowded  upon  her  mind  with 
such  fearful  force,  that  her  reason  began  to  totter,  and  she 


340  WILLY  REILLY. 

felt  apprehensive  that  she  might  not  be  able  to  bear  thex 
trial  which  Reilly's  position  now  placed  before  her  in  the 
most  hideous  colours.  On  the  other  hand,  there  was 
Whitecraft,  a  man  certainly  who  had  committed  many 
crimes,  and  murders,  and  burnings,  often,  but  not  always, 
upon  his  own  responsibility ;  a  man  who,  she  knew,  enter- 
tained no  manly  or  tender  affection  for  her ;  he,  too,  about 
to  meet  a  violent  death  I  That  she  detested  him  with  an 
abhorrence  as  deep  as  ever  woman  entertained  against  man 
was  true ;  yet  she  was  a  woman,  and  this  unhappy  fate 
that  impended  over  him  was  not  excluded  out  of  the  code 
of  her  heart's  humanity.  She  wished  him  also  to  be  saved, 
if  only  that  he  might  withdraw  from  Ireland  and  repent  of 
his  crimes.  Altogether  she  was  in  a  state  bordering  on 
frenzy  and  despair,  and  was  often  incapable  of  continuing 
a  sustained  conversation. 

When  Whitecraft  reached  the  gaol  in  his  carriage, 
attended  by  a  guard  of  troopers,  the  gaoler  knew  not  what 
to  make  of  it;  but  seeing  the  carriage,  which,  after  a 
glance  or  two,  he  immediately  recognised  as  that  of  the 
well-known  Grand  Juror,  he  came  out,  with  hat  in  hand, 
bowing  most  obsequiously. 

"  I  hope  your  honour's  well ;  you  are  coming  to  inspect 
the  prisoners,  I  suppose  1  Always  active  on  behalf  of 
Church  and  State,  Sir  Robert." 

"  Come,  Mr.  O'Shaughnessy,"  said  one  of  the  constables, 
"  get  on  with  no  nonsense.  You're  a  mighty  Church  and 
State  man  now ;  but  I  remember  when  there  was  as  rank  a 
rebel  under  your  coat  as  ever  thumped  a  craw.  Sir 
Robert,  sir,  is  here  as  our  prisoner,  and  will  soon  be  yours, 
for  murder  and  arson,  and  God  knows  what,  besides.  Be 
pleased  to  walk  into  the  hatch,  Sir  Eobert,  and  there  we 
surrender  you  to  Mr.  O'Shaughnessy,  who  will  treat  you 
well  if  you  pay  him  well." 

They  then  entered  the  hatch ;  the  constables  produced 
the  mittimus  and  the  baronet's  person  both  together,  after 
which  they  withdrew,  having  failed  to  get  the  price  of  a 
glass  from  the  baronet  as  a  reward  for  their  civility. 

Such  scenes  have  been  described  a  hundred  times,  and 
we,  consequently,  shall  not  delay  our  readers  upon  this. 


WILLY  REILLY.  341 

The  baronet,  indeed,  imagined,  that  from  his  rank  and 
influence  the  gaoler  might  be  induced  to  give  him  com- 
fortable apartments.     He  was  in,  however,  for  two  capital 
felonies,  and  the  gaoler,  who  was  acquainted  with  the  turn 
that  public  affairs  had  taken,  told  him  that  upon  his  soul 
and  conscience  if  the  matter  lay  with  him  he  would  not  pub 
his  honour  among  the  felons;  but  then,  he  had  no  dis- 
cretion, because  it  was  as  much  as  his  place  was  worth  to 
break  the  rules — a  thing  he  couldn't  think  of  doing,  as  an 
honest  man  and  an  upright  officer. 
.    "  But  whatever  I  can  dp  for  you,  Sir  Robert,  I'll  do." 
"  You  will  let  me  have  pen  and  ink,  won't  you  %" 
"  Well,  let  me  see.     Yes,  I  will,  Sir  Robert ;  I'll  stretch 
that- far  for  the  sake  of  ould  times." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  SQUIRE  ^COMFORTS  WHITECRAFT  IN  HIS  AFFLICTION. 

tHE  old  Squire  and  Cummiskey  lost  little  time  in  get- 
ting over  the  ground  to  the  town  of  Sligo,  and,  in 
order  to  reach  it  the  more  quickly,  they  took  a  short 
cut  by  the  old  road  which  we  have  described  at  the 
beginning  of  this  narrative.  On  arriving  at  that  part  of  it 
from  which  they  could  view  the  spot  where  Reiliy  rescued 
them  from  the  murderous  violence  of  the  Red  Rapparee, 
Cummiskey  pointed  to  it. 

"Does  your  honour  remember  that  place,  where  you  see 
the  ould  building?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.  Is  not  that  the  place  where  the  cursed 
Rapparee  attacked  us  V 

"  It  is,  sir ;  and  where  poor  Reiliy  saved  both  our  lives, 
and  yet  your  honour's  goin'  to  hang  him." 

"You  know  nothing  about  it,  you  old  blockhead.  It 
was  all  a  plan  got  up  by  Reiliy  and  the  Rapparee  for  the 
purpose  of  getting  introduced  to  my  daughter,  for  his  own 


342  WILLY  REILLY. 

base  and  selfish  purposes.  Yes,  I'll  hang  him  certainly — - 
no  doubt  of  that." 

" Well,  sir,"  replied  Cummiskey,  "it's  one  comfort  that 
he  won't  hang  by  himself." 

"No,"  said  the  other,  "he  and  the  Rapparee  will  stretch 
the  same  rope." 

"  The  Eapparee  !  faith  sir,  he'll  have  worse  company." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sirra1?" 

"Why,  Sir  Eobert  Whitecraft,  sir;  he  always  had 
gallows  written  in  his  face ;  but  upon  my  soul,  he'll  soon 
have  it  about  his  neck,  please  Goc|." 

"Faith,  I'm  afraid  you  are  not  far  from  the  truth, 
Cummiskey,"  replied  his  master;  "however,  I  am  going  to 
make  arrangements  with  him,  to  see  what  can  be  doue  for 
the  unfortunate  man." 

"  If  you'll  take  my  advice,  sir,  you'll  have  nothing  to  do 
with  him.  Keep  your  hand  out  o'  the  pot ;  there's  no  man 
can  skim  boiling  lead  with  his  hand  and  not  barn  his 
fingers — but  a  tinker." 

11  Don't  be  saucy,  you  old  dog ;  but  ride  on,  for  I  must 
put  'Black  Tom  to  his  speed." 

On  arriving  at  the  prison,  the  Squire  found  Sir  Hubert 
pent  up  in  a  miserable  cell,  with  a  table  screwed  to  the 
floor,  a  pallet  bed,  and  a  deal  form.  Perhaps  his  comfort 
might  have  been  improved  through  the  medium  of  his 
purse,  were  it  not  that  the  Prison  Board  had  held  a  meet- 
ing that  very  day,  subsequent  to  his  committal,  in  which, 
with  some  dissentients,  they  considered  it  their  duty  to 
warn  the  gaoler  against  granting  him  any  indulgence  be- 
yond what  he  was  entitled  to  as  a  felon ;  and  this,  under 
pain  of  their  earnest  displeasure. 

When  the  Squire  entered  he  found  the  melancholy 
baronet  and  priest-hunter  sitting  upon  the  hard  form,  his 
head  hanging  down  upon  his  breast,  or,  indeed,  we  might 
say,  much  farther;  for,  in  consequence  of  the  almost  un- 
natural length  of  his  neck,  it  appeared  on  that  occasion  to 
be  growing  out  of  the  middle  of  his  body,  or  of  that 
fleshless  vertebral  column  which  passed  for  one. 

"Well,  baronet,"  exclaimed  Folliard,  pretty  loudly, 
"here's  an  exchange!  from  the  altar  to  the  halter;  from 
the  matrimonial    noose  to   honest  Jack   Ketch's — and    a 


WILLY  REILLY.  343 

devilish   good   escape  it   would  be  to  many  unfortunate 
wretches  in  this  same  world." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  the  baronet,  "  is  not  this 
miserable  ?     What  will  become  of  me  V 

"Now,  I  tell  you  what,  Whitecraft,  I  am  come  to  speak 
to  you  upon  your  position ;  but  before  I  go  farther,  let  me 
say  a  word  or  two  to  make  you  repent,  if  possible,  for  what 
you  have  done  to  others."  , 

"  For  what  I  have  done,  Mr.  Folliard !  why  should  I  not 
repent,  when  I  find  I  am  to  be  hanged  for  it  1" 

"  Oh,  hanged  you  will  be,  there  is  no  doubt  of  that ;  but 
now  consider  a  little ;  here  you  are  with  a  brown  loaf, 
and — is  that  water  in  the  jug  T' 

"It  is." 

"  Very  well;  here  you  are,  hard  and  fast — you  who  were 
accustomed  to  luxuries,  to  the  richest  meats,  and  the 
richest  wines — here  you  are  with  a  brown  loaf,  a  jug  of 
water,  and  the  gallows  before  you !  However,  if  you  wish 
to  repent  truly  and  sincerely,  reflect  upon  the  numbers 
that  you  and  your  bloodhounds  have  consigned  to  places 
like  this,  and  sent  from  this  to  the  gibbet,  while  you  were, 
rioting  in  luxury  and  triumph.  Good  God,  sir,  hold  up 
your  head,  and  be  a  man.  What  if  you  are  hanged? 
Many  a  better  man  was.     Hold  up  your  head,  I  say." 

"  I  can't,  my  dear  Folliard ;  it  won't  stay  up  for  me." 

"Egad  !  and  you'll  soon  get  a  receipt  for  holding  it  up. 
Why  the  mischief  can't  you  have  spunk  VI 

"  Spunk  ;•  how  the  deuce  could  you  expect  spunk  from 
any  man  in  my  condition  %  It  is  difficult  to  understand 
you,  Mr.  Folliard;  you  told  me  a  minute  ago  to  repent, 
and  now  you  tell  me  to  have  spunk;  pray  what  do  you 
mean  by  that1?" 

"  Why,  confound  it,  I  mean  that  you  should  repent  with 
spunk.  However,  let  us  come  to  more  important  matters; 
what  can  be  done  for  you  V 

"  I  know  not ;  I  am  incapable  of  thinking  on  anything 
but  that  damned  gallows  without ;  yet  I  should  wish  to 
make  my  Will." 

"  Your  Will !  Why,  I  think  you  have  lost  your  senses ; 
don't  you  know  that  when  you're  hanged  every  shilling  and 
'acre  you  are  possessed  of  will  be  forfeited  to  the  Crown." 


344  WILLY  REILLY. 

{*  True,"  replied  the  other,  "  I  had  forgotten  that.  Could 
Hastings  be  induced  to  decline  prosecuting  V 

"  What !  to  compromise  a  felony,  and  be  transported  him- 
self. Thank  you  for  nothing,  baronet ;  that's  rather  a  blue 
look  up.  No,  our  only  plan  is  to  try  and  influence  the 
Grand  Jury  to  throw  out  the  bills ;  but  then,  again,  there 
are  indictments  against  you  to  no  end.  Hastings'  case  is 
♦  only  a  single  one,  and,  even  if  he  failed,  it  would  not 
better  your  condition  a  whit.  Under  the  late  Adminis- 
tration we  could  have  saved  you  by  getting  a  packed  jury; 
but  that's  out  of  the  question  now.  All  we  can  do,  I  think, 
is  to  get  up  a  memorial  strongly  signed,  supplicating  the 
Lord  Lieutenant  to  commute  your  sentence  from  hanging 
to  transportation  for  life.  I  must  confess,  however,  there 
is  little  hope  even  there.  They  will  come  down  with  their 
cursed  reasoning  and  tell  us  that  the  rank  and  education  of 
the  offender  only  aggravate  the  offence ;  and  that,  if  they 
allow  a  man  so  convicted  to  escape,  in  consequence  of  his 
high  position  in  life,  every  humble  man  found  guilty  and 
executed  for  the  same  crime — is  murdered.  They  will  tell 
us  it  would  be  a  prostitution  of  the  prerogative  of  the 
Crown  to  connive  at  crime  in  the  rich,  and  punish  it  in  the 
poor.  And  again,  there's  the  devil  of  it;  your  beggarly 
want  of  hospitality,  in  the  first  place,  and  the  cursed 
swaggering  severity  with  which  you  carried  out  your 
loyalty,  by  making  unexpected  domiciliary  visits  to  the 
houses  of  loyal  but  humane  Protestant  families,  with  the 
expectation  of  finding  a  priest  or  a  Papist  under  their  pro- 
tection :  both  these,  I  say,  have  made  you  the  most  un- 
popular man  in  the  county ;  and,  upon  my  soul,  Sir  Robert, 
I  don't  think  there  will  be  a  man  upon  the  Grand  Jury 
whose  family  you  have  not  insulted,  by  your  inveterate 
loyalty.  No  one,  I  tell  you,  likes  a  persecutor.  Still,  I 
say,  I'll  try  what  I  can  do  with  the  Grand  Jury.  I'll  see 
my  friends  and  yours — if  you  have  any  now,  make  out  a 
list  of  them  in  a  day  or  two — and  you  may  rest  assured 
that  I  will  leave  nothing  undone  to  extricate  you." 

11  Thank  you,  Mr.  Folliard ;  but  do  you  know  why  I  am 
here?" 

"To  be  sure  I  do." 

"No,   you  don't,  sir.     William  Reilly,  the  Jesuit   and 


WILLY  EEILLY.  345 

Papist,  is  the  cause  of  it,  and  will  be  the  cause  of  my  utter 
ruin  and  ignominious  death." 

"  How  is  that  ?  Make  that  plain  to  me ;  only  make  that 
plain  to  me." 

"He  is  the  bosom  friend  of  Hastings,  and  can  sway  him, 
and  move  him,  and  manage  him,  as  a  father  would  his 
child,  or,  rather,  as  a  child  would  a  doting  father.  Eeilly, 
sir,  is  at  the  bottom  of  this,  his  great  object  always  having 
been  to  prevent  a  marriage  between  me  and  your  beautiful 
daughter ;  I  who,  after  all,  have  done  so  much  for  Pro- 
testantism, am  the  victim  of  that  Jesuit  and  Papist." 

This  vindictive  suggestion  took  at  once,  and  the  impe- 
tuous old  Squire  started  as  if  a  new  light  had  been  let  in 
upon  his  mind.  We  call  him  impetuous,  because,  if  he  had 
reflected  only  for  a  moment  upon  the  diabolical  persecu- 
tion, both  in  person  and  property,  which  Eeilly  had  sus- 
tained at  the  baronet's  hands,  he  ought  not  to  have  blamed 
him  had  he  shot  the  scoundrel  as  if  he  had  been  one  of  the 
most  rabid  dogs  that  ever  ran  frothing  across  a  country. 
We  say  the  suggestion,  poisoned  as  it  was  by  the  most 
specious  falsehood,  failed  not  to  accomplish  the  villain's 
object. 

Folliard  grasped  him  by  the  hand.  "  Never  mind,"  said 
he;  "keep  yourself  quiet,  and  leave  Eeilly  to  me;  I  have 
him,  that's  enough." 

"No,"  replied  the  baronet,  "it  is  not  enough,  because  I 
know  what  will  happen ;  Miss  Folliard's  influence  over  you 
is  a  proverb ;  now  she  will  cajole,  and  flatter,  and  beguile 
you,  until  she  prevails  upon  you  to  let  the  treacherous 
Jesuit  slip  through  your  fingers,  and  then  he  will  get  off  to 
the  Continent  and  laugh  at  you  all,  after  having  taken  her 
with  him ;  for  there  is  nothing  more  certain,  if  he  escapes 
death  through  your  indulgence,  than  that  you  will,  in  the 
course  of  a  few  years,  find  yourself  grandfather  to  a  brood 
of  young  Papists;  and  when  I  say  Papists,  need  I  add  rebels  ?" 
>  "Come,"  replied  the  hot-headed  old  man,  "don't  insult 
me;  I  am  master  of  my  own  house,  and,  well  as  I  love  my 
daughter,  I  would  not  for  a  moment  suffer  her  to  interfere 
in  a  public  matter  of  this  or  any  other  kind.  Now,  good- 
bye ;  keep  your  spirits  up,  and  if  you  are  to  die,  why  die 
like  a  man." 


34G  WILLY  REILLY. 

They  then  separated;  and,  as  Folliard  was  passing 
through  the  hatch,  he  called  the  gaoler  into  his  own  office, 
and  strove  to  prevail  upon  him,  not  ineffectually,  to  smuggle 
in  some  wine  and  other  comforts  to  the  baronet.  The  man 
told  him  that  he  would  with  pleasure  do  so  if  he  dared ; 
but  that  the  caution  against  it  which  he  had  got  that  verj 
day  from,  the  Board  rendered  the  thing  impossible.  Ere 
the  Squire  left  him,  however,  his  scruples  were  overcome, 
and  the  baronet,  before  he  went  to  bed  that  night,  had  a 
roast  duck  for  supper,  with  two  bottles  of  excellent  claret 
to  wash  it  down,  and  lull  his  conscience  into  slumber. 

"  Confound  it,"  the  Squire  soliloquised,  on  their  way 
home,  "I  am  as  stupid  as  Whitecraft  himself,  who  was 
never  stupid  until  now;  there  have  I  been  with  him  in 
that  cursed  dungeon,  and  neither  of  us  ever  thought  of 
taking  measures  for  his  defence.  Why  he  must  have  the 
best  lawyers  at  the  bar,  and  fee  them  like  princes.  Gad  ! 
I  have  a  great  notion  to  ride  back  and  speak  to  him  on  the 
subject;  he's  in  such  a  confounded  trepidation  about  his 
life  that  he  can  think  of  nothing  else.  No  matter,  I  shall 
write  to  him  by  a  special  messenger  early  in  the  morning. 
It  would  be  a  cursed  slap  in  the  face  to  have  one  of  our 
leading  men  hanged — only,  after  all,  for  carrying  out  the 
wishes  of  an  anti-Papist  Government,  who  connived  at  his 
conduct  and  encouraged  him  in  it.  I  know  he  expected  a 
coronet,  and  I  have  no  doubt  but  he'd  have  got  one  had 
his  party  remained  in ;  but  now,  all  the  unfortunate  devil 
is  likely  to  get  is  a  rope — and  be  hanged  to  them !  How- 
ever, as  to  my  own  case  about  Reilly — I  must  secure  a 
strong  bar  against  him ;  and  if  we  can  only  prevail  upon 
Helen  to  state  the  facts  as  they  occurred,  there  is  little 
doubt  that  he  shall  suffer;  for  hang  he  must,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  disgrace  he  has  brought  upon  my  daughter's 
name  and  mine.  Whatever  I  might  have  forgiven,  I  will 
never  forgive  him  that." 

He  then  rode  on  at  a  rapid  pace,  and  did  not  slacken  his 
speed  until  he  reached  home.  Dinner  was  ready,  and  he 
sat  down  with  none  but  Helen,  who  could  scarcely  touch  a 
morsel.  Her  father  saw,  at  once,  the  state  of  her  mind, 
and  felt  that  it  would  be  injudicious  to  introduce  any 
subject   that  might   be   calculated   to   excite    her.     They 


WILLY  REILLY.  347. 

accordingly  talked  upon  commonplace  topics,  and  each 
assumed  as  much  cheerfulness  and  more  than  they  could 
command.  It  was  a  miserable  sight,  when  properly  under- 
stood, to  see  the  father  and  daughter  forced,  by  the  painful 
peculiarity  of  their  circumstances,  thus  to  conceal  their 
natural  sentiments  from  each  other.  Love,  however,  is 
often  a  disturber  of  families,  as  in  the  case  of  Eeilly  and 
Cooleen  Bawn;  and  so  is  an  avaricious  ambition,  when 
united  to  a  selfish  and  a  sensual  attachment,  as  in  the  case 
of  Whitecraft. 

It  is  unnecessary  now,  and  it  would  be  only  tedious  to 
dwell  upon  the  energetic  preparations  that  were  made  for 
the  three  approaching  trials.  Public  rumour  had  taken 
them  up,  and  sent  them  abroad  throughout  the  greater 
portion  of  the  kingdom.  The  three  culprits  were  notorious 
— Sir  Eobert  Whitecraft,  the  priest-hunter  and  persecutor ; 
the  notorious  Red  Eapparee,  whose  exploits  had  been  com- 
memorated in  a  thousand  ballads;  and  "Willy  Eeilly," 
whose  love  for  the  far-famed  Cooleen  Baivn,  together  with 
her  unconquerable  passion  for  him,  had  been  known 
throughout  the  empire.  In  fact,  the  interest  which  the 
public  felt  in  the  result  of  the  approaching  trials  was  in- 
tense, not  only  in  Ireland,  but  throughout  England  and 
Scotland,  where  the  circumstances  connected  with  them 
were  borne  on  the  wings  of  the  Press.  Love,  however, 
especially  the  romance  of  it — and  here  were  not  only 
romance  but  reality  enough — love,  we  say,  overcomes  all 
collateral  interests — and  the  history  of  the  loves  of  Willy 
Eeilly  and  his  "  dear  Cooleen  Bawn"  even  then  touched  the 
hearts  of  thousands,  and  moistened  many  a  young  eye  for 
his  calamities  and  early  fate,  and  the  sorrows  of  his  Cooleen 
Bawn. 

Helen's  father,  inspired  by  the  devilish  suggestions  of 
Whitecraft,  now  kept  aloof  from  her  as  much  as  he  could 
with  decency  do.  He  knew  his  own  weakness,  and  felt 
that  if  he  suffered  her  to  gain  that  portion  of  his  society  to 
which  she  had  been  accustomed,  his  resolution  might  break 
down,  and  the  very  result  prognosticated  by  Whitecraft 
might  be  brought  about.  Indeed  his  time  was  so  little  his 
.own,  between  his  activity  in  defence  of  that  villain  and  his 
energetic  operations  for  the  prosecution  of  Eeilly,  that  he 


348  WILLY   REILLY. 

had  not  much  to  spare  her,  except  at  meals.  It  was  not, 
however,  through  himself  that  he  wished  to  win  her  over 
to  prosecute  Keilly.  No ;  he  felt  his  difficulty,  and  knew 
that  he  could  not  attempt  to  influence  her  with  a  good 
grace,  or  any  force  of  argument.  He  resolved,  therefore, 
to  set  his  attorney  to  work,  who,  as  he  understood  all  the 
quirks  and  intricacy  of  the  law,  might  be  able  to  puzzle  her 
into  compliance.  This  gentleman,  however,  who  possessed, 
at  once,  a  rapacious  heart  and  a  stupid  head,  might  have 
fleeced  half  the  country,  had  the  one  been  upon  a  par  with 
the  other.  He  was,  besides,  in  his  own  estimation,  a  lady- 
killer,  and  knew  not  how  these  interviews  with  the  fair 
Cooleen  Bawn  might  end.  He,  at  all  events,  was  a  sound 
Protestant,  and  if  it  were  often  said  that  you  might  as  well 
ask  a  Highlander  for  a  knee-buckle  as  an  attorney  for 
religion,  he  could  conscientiously  fall  back  upon  the  fact 
that  political  Protestantism  and  religion  were  very  different 
things — for  an  attorney. 

Instructed  by  Folliard,  he  accordingly  waited  upon  her 
professionally,  in  her  father's  study,  during  his  absence, 
and  opened  his  case  as  follows : 

"  I  have  called  upon  you,  Miss  Folliard,  by  the  direction 
01  your  father,  professionally,  and  indeed  I  thank  my  stars 
that  any  professional  business  should  give  me  an  oppor- 
tunity of  admiring  so  far-famed  a  beauty." 

"  Are  you  not  Mr.  Doldrum,"  she  asked,  "  the  celebrated 
attorney  ?" 

"  Doldrum  is  certainly  my  name,  my  lovely  client." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Doldrum,  I  think  I  have  heard  of  you ;  but 
permit  me  to  say  that  before  you  make  love,  as  you  seem 
about  to  do,  I  think  it  better  you  should  mention  your 
professional  business." 

"  It  is  very  simple,  Miss  Folliard ;  just  to  know  whether 
you  have  any  objection  to  appear  as  an  evidence  against — ! 
he-hem — against  Mr.  Eeilly." 

"  Oh,  then  your  business  and  time  with  me  will  be  very 
brief,  Mr.  Doldrum.  It  is  my  intention  to  see  justice  done, 
and  for  that  purpose  I  shall  attend  the  trial,  and  if  I  find 
that  my  evidence  will  be  necessary  I  assure  you  I  shall 
give  it.  But,  Mr.  Doldrum,  one  word  with  you  before 
you  go." 


WILLY  REILLY.  349 

"  A  hundred — a  thousand,  my  dear  lady." 

"  It  is  this ;  I  beg,  as  a  personal  favour,  that  you  will  use 
your  great  influence  with  my  father,  to  prevent  him  from 
talking  to  me  on  this  subject  until  the  day  of  trial  comes* 
By  being  kind  enough  to  do  this  you  will  save  me  from 
much  anxiety  and  annoyance." 

"I  pledge  you  my  honour,  Madam,  that  your  wishes 
shall  be  complied  with  to  the  letter,  as  far,  at  least,  as  any 
influence  of  mine  can  accomplish  them." 

"  Thank  you,  sir ;  I  wish  you  a  good  morning." 

"  Good  morning,  Madam ;  it  shall  not  be  my  fault  if  you 
are  harassed  upon  this  most  painful  subject ;  and  I  pledge 
you  my  reputation,  that  I  never  contributed  to  hang  a  man 
in  my  life  with  more  regret  than  I  experience  in  this 
unfortunate  case." 

It  is  quite  a  common  thing  to  find  vanity  and  stupidity 
united  in  the  same  individual,  as  they  were  in  Mr.  Doldrum. 
He  was  Mr.  Folliard's  country  attorney,  and,  in  conse- 
quence of  his  strong  Protestant  politics,  was  engaged  as 
the  law  agent  of  his  property;  and  for  the  same  reason, 
that  is — because  he  was  a  violent,  he  was  considered  a  very 
able  man. 

There  is  a  class  of  men  in  the  world  who,  when  they 
once  engage  in  a  pursuit  or  an  act  of  any  importance,  will 
persist  in  working  it  out,  rather  than  be  supposed,  by 
relinquishing  it,  when  they  discover  themselves  wrong,  to 
cast  an  imputation  on  their  own  judgments.  To  such  a 
class  belonged  Mr.  Folliard,  who  never,  in  point  of  fact, 
acted  upon  any  fixed  or  distinct  principle  whatsoever  ;  yet 
if  he  once  took  a  matter  into  his  head,  under  the  influence 
of  caprice  or  impulse,  no  man  could  evince  more  obstinacy 
or  perseverance,  apart  from  all  its  justice  or  moral  associa- 
tions, so  long,  at  least,  as  that  caprice  or  impulse  lasted. 
The  reader  may  have  perceived  from  his  dialogue  with 
Helen,  on  the  morning  appointed  for  her  marriage  with 
Whitecraft,  that  the  worthy  baronet,  had  he  made  his 
appearance,  stood  a  strong  chance  of  being  sent  about  his 
business,  as  rank  a  bachelor  as  he  had  come.  And  yet, 
because  he  was  cunning  enough  to  make  the  hot-brained 
and  credulous  old  man  believe  that  Reilly  was  at  the 
bottom  of  the  plan  for  his  destruction,  and  Hastings  only 


350  WILLY  REILLY. 

the  passive  agent  in  his  hands;  we  say,  because  he  suc- 
ceeded iu  making  this  impression,  which  he  knew  to  be 
deliberately  false,  upon  his  plastic  nature,  he,  Folliard, 
worked  himself  up  into  a  vindictive  bitterness  peculiar  to 
little  minds,  as  well  as  a  fixed  determination  that  Reilly 
should  die ;  not  by  any  means  so  much  because  he  took 
away  his  daughter,  as  that  his  death  might  be  marked  in 
this  conflict  of  parties  as  a  set-off  against  that  of  Whitecraft. 

In  the  meantime,  he  and  Helen  entertained,  each,  a 
different  apprehension ;  he  dreaded  that  she  might  exercise 
her  influence  over  him  for  the  purpose  of  softening  him 
against  Reilly,  whom,  if  he  had  suffered  himself  to  analyse 
his  own  heart,  he  would  have  found  there  in  the  shape  of 
something  very  like  a  favourite.  Helen,  on  the  contrary, 
knew  that  she  was  expected  to  attend  the  trial^  in  order  to 
give  evidence  against  her  lover;  and  she  lived  for  a  few 
days  after  his  committal  under  the  constant  dread  that  her 
father  would  persecute  her  with  endless  arguments  to 
induce  her  attendance  at  the  Assizes.  Such,  besides,  was 
her  love  of  truth  and  candour,  and  her  hatred  of  dissimula- 
tion in  every  shape  that,  if  either  her  father  or  the  attorney 
had  asked  her,  in  explicit  terms,  what  the  tendency  of  her 
evidence  was  to  be,  she  would  at  once  have  satisfied  them 
that  it  should  be  in  favour  of  her  lover.  In  the  meantime, 
she  felt  that,  as  they  did  not  press  her  on  this  point,  it 
would  have  been  madness  to  volunteer  a  disclosure  of  a 
matter  so  important  to  the  vindication  of  Reilly's  conduct. 
To  this  we  may  add  her  intimate  knowledge  of  her  father's 
whimsical  character  and  unsteadiness  of  purpose.  She 
was  not  ignorant  that,  even  if  he  were  absolutely  aware 
that  the  tenor  of  her  evidence  was  to  go  against  Keilly,  his 
mind  might  change  so  decidedly,  as  to  call  upon  her  to 
give  evidence  in  his  defence.  Under  these  circumstances 
she  acted  with  singular  prudence,  in  never  alluding  to  a 
topic  of  such  difficulty,  and  which  involved  a  contingency 
that  might  affect  her  lover  in  a  double  sense. 

Her  father's  conduct,  however,  on  this  occasion,  saved 
them  both  a  vast  deal  of  trouble  and  annoyance,  and  the 
consequence  was,  that  they  met  as  seldom  as  possible.  In 
addition  to  this,  we  may  state,  that  Doldrum  communicated 
the  successful  result  of  his  interview  with  Miss  Folliard — 


WILLY  REILLY.  351 

her  willingness  to  attend  the  trial  and  see  justice  done, 
upon  condition  that  she  should  not  have  the  subject 
obtruded  on  her,  either  by  her  father  or  any  one  else,  until 
the  appointed  day  should  arrive,  when  she  would  punctu- 
ally attend.  In  this  state  were  the  relative  positions  and 
feelings  of  father  and  daughter  about  a  month  before  the 
opening  of  the  Assizes. 

In  the  meantime,  the  Squire  set  himself  to  work  for  the 
baronet.  The  ablest  lawyers  were  retained,  but  Whitecraffc 
most  positively  objected  to  Folliard's  proposal  of  engaging 
Doldrum  as  his  attorney;  he  knew  the  stupidity  and 
ignorance  of  the  man,  and  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
him  as  the  conductor  of  his  case.  His  own  attorney,  Mr. 
Sharply,  was  engaged ;  and,  indeed,  his  selection  of  a  keen 
and  able  man,  such  as  he  was,  did  credit  both  to  his  sagacity 
and  foresight. 

Considering  the  state  of  the  country,  at  that  particular 
period,  the  matter  began  to  assume  a  most  important 
aspect.  A  portion  of  the  Protestant  party,  by  which  we 
mean  those  who  had  sanctioned  all  Whitecraft's  brutal  and 
murderous  excesses,  called  every  energy  and  exertion  into 
work,  in  order  to  defeat  the  Government,  and  protect  the 
leading  man  of  their  own  clique.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  was  the  Government,  firm  and  decided,  by  the  just 
operation  of  the  laws,  to  make  an  example  of  the  man  who 
had  not  only  availed  himself  of  those  laws  when  they  were 
with  him,  but  who  scrupled  not  to  set  them  aside  when 
they  were  against  him,  and  to  enforce  his  blood-thirsty 
instincts  upon  his  own  responsibility.  The  Government, 
however,  were  not  without  large  and  active  support  from 
those  liberal  Protestants,  who  had  been  disgusted  and 
sickened  by  the  irresponsible  outrages  of  such  persecutors 
as  Whitecraft  and  Smellpriest.  Upon  those  men  the  new 
Government  relied,  and  relied  with  safety.  The  country 
was  in  a  tumult,  the  bigoted  party  threatened  an  insurrec- 
tion j  and  they  did  so,  not  because  they  felt  themselves  in 
a  position  to  effect  it,  but  in  order  to  alarm  and- intimidate 
the  Government.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Catholics,  who 
had  given  decided  proofs  of  their  loyalty,  by  refusing  to 
•join  the  Pretender,  now  expressed  their  determination  to 
support  the  Government,  if  an  outbreak  among  that  section 


352  WILLY  REILLY. 

of  the  Protestant  party,  to  which  we  have  just  alluded, 
should  take  place. 

But  perhaps  the  real  cause  of  the  conduct  of  Govern- 
ment  might   be   traced   to   Whitecraft's   outrage   upon   a 

French  subject,  in  the  person  of  the  Abbe .    The  matter, 

as  we  have  stated,  was  seriously  taken  up  by  the  French 
Ambassador,  in  the  name,  and  by  the  most  positive  in- 
structions of  his  Court.  The  villain  Whitecraft,  in  con- 
sequence of  that  wanton  and  unjustifiable  act,  went  far  to 
involve  the  two  nations  in  a  bitter  and  bloody  war. 
England  was  every  day  under  the  apprehension  of  a  French 
invasion,  which,  of  course,  she  dreaded  ;  something  must  be 
done  to  satisfy  the  French  Court.  Perhaps,  had  it  not 
been  for  this,  the  general  outrages  committed  upon  the 
unfortunate  Catholics  of  Ireland  would  never  have  become 
the  subject  of  a  detailed  investigation.  An  investigation, 
however,  took  place,  by  which  a  system  of  the  most 
incredible  persecution  was  discovered  and  a  milder  adminis- 
tration of  the  laws  was  found  judicious,  in  order  to  con- 
ciliate the  Catholic  party,  and  prevent  them  from  embracing 
the  cause  of  the  Pretender.  At  all  events,  what  between 
the  necessity  of  satisfying  the  claims  of  the  French 
Government,  and  in  apprehension  of  a  Catholic  defection, 
the  great  and  principal  criminal  was  selected  for  punish- 
ment. The  Irish  Government,  however,  who  were  already 
prepared  with  their  charges,  found  themselves  already 
anticipated  by  Mr.  Hastings,  a  fact  which  enabled  them  to 
lie  on  their  oars  and  await  the  result. 

Such  was  the  state  and  condition  of  affairs  as  the  Assizes 
were  within  ten  days  of  opening. 

One  evening  about  this  time,  the  old  Squire,  who  never 
remained  long  in  the  same  mode  of  feeling,  sent  for  his 
daughter  to  the  dining-room,  where  he  was  engaged  at  his 
Burgundy.  The  poor  girl  feared  that  he  was  about  to 
introduce  the  painful  subject  which  she  dreaded  so  much, 
that  is  to  say,  the  necessity  of  giving  her  evidence  against 
Reilly.  After  some  conversation,  however,  she  was  relieved, 
for  he  did  not  allude  to  it,,  but  he  did  to  the  fate  of  Reilly 
himself;  the  very  subject  which  was  wringing  her  heart 
with  agony. 

"  Helen,"  said  he,  "  I  have  been  thinking  of  Reilly's  affair, 


WILLY   REILLY.  353 

and  it  strikes  me,  that  he  may  be  saved,  and  become  your 
husband  still;  because  you  know  that  if  Whitecraft  was 
acquitted,  now  that  he  has  been  publicly  disgraced,  I'd  see 
the  devil  picking  his  bones — and  very  hard  picking  he'd 
find  them — before  I'd  give  you  to  him  as  a  wife." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear  papa ;  but  let  me  ask  why  it  is 
that  you  are  so  active  in  stirring  up  his  party  to  defend 
such  a  man  V? 

"Foolish  girl,"  he  replied;  "it  is  not  the  man,  but  the 
cause  and  the  principle,  we  defend." 

"What,  papa,  the  cause!  bloodshed  and  persecution  !  I 
believe  you  to  be  possessed  of  a  humane  heart,  papa ;  but, 
notwithstanding  his  character  and  his  crimes,  I  do  not  wish 
the  unfortunate  man  to  be  struck  into  the  grave  without 
repentance." 

"Eepentance,  Helen !  How  the  deuce  could  a  man  feel 
repentance  who  does  not  believe  the  Christian  religion?" 

"But  then,  sir,  has  he  not  the  reputation  of  being  a 
sound  and  leading  Protestant1?" 

"Oh,  hang  his  reputation;  it  is  not  of  him  I  wish  to 
speak  to  you,  but  Reilly." 

Helen's  heart  beat  rapidly  and  thickly,  but  she  spoke 
not, 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "I  have  a  project  in  my  head  that  I 
think  may  save  Reilly." 

"  Pray,  what  is  it,  may  I  ask,  papa  I" 

"  No,  you  may  not ;  but  to-morrow  I  will  give  him  an 
early  call,  and  will  let  you  know  how  I  succeed,  after  my 
return  to  dinner ;  yes,  I  will  tell  you  after  dinner.  But, 
listen,  Helen,  it  is  the  opinion  of  the  baronet's  friends  that 
they  will  be  able  to  save  him." 

"I  hope  they  may,  sir;  I  should  not  wish  to  see  any 
fellow-creature  brought  to  an  ignominious  death  in  the 
midst  of  his  offences,  and  in  the  prime  of  life." 

"But,  on  the  contrary,  if  he  swings,  we  are  bound  to 
sacrifice  one  of  the  Papist  party  for  him,  and  Reilly  is  the 
man.  Now  don't  look  so  pale,  Helen — don't  look  as  if 
death  was  settled  in  your  face ;  his  fate  may  be  avoided ; 
but  ask  me  nothing — the  project's  my  own,  and  I  will 
communicate  it  to  no  one,  until  after  I  shall  have  ascer- 
tained whether  I  fail  in  it  or  not." 

7, 


354  WILLY  REILLY. 

"I  trust,  sir,  it  will  be  nothing  that  will  involve  him 
in  anything  dishonourable ;  but  why  do  I  ask?  He  is 
incapable  of  that." 

"Well,  well,  leave  the  matter  in  my  hand;  and  now, 
upon  the  strength  of  my  project,  I'll  take  another  bumper 
of  Burgundy,  and  drink  to  its  success." 

Helen  pleaded  some  cause  for  withdrawing,  as  she  enter- 
tained an  apprehension  that  he  might  introduce  the  topic 
which  she  most  dreaded,  that  of  her  duty  to  give  evidence 
against  Eeilly.  When  she  was  gone  he  began  to  ponder 
over  several  subjects  connected  with  the  principal  characters 
of  this  narrative  until  he  became  drowsy,  during  which 
period  halters,  gibbets,  gallowses,  hangmen,  and  judges, 
jumbled  each  other  alternately  through  his  fancy,  until  he 
fell  fast  asleep  in  his  easy-chair. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  SQUIRE  BECOMES  THEOLOGICAL  AND  A  PROSE LYTISER  J 
BUT  SIGNALLY  FAILS. 

tHE  next  morning  he  and  Cummiskey  started  for  Sligo, 
and,  as  usual,  when  they  reached  the  gaol  the  turnkey 
was  about  to  conduct  the  Squire  to  Sir  Robert's 
room,  when  the  former  turned  and  said : 

"  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Eeilly ;  lead  me  to  his  cell." 

"  Eeilly,  sir !"  exclaimed  the  man  in  astonishment.  "  Are 
you  sure,  sir,  it's  not  Sir  Eobert  Whitecraft  you  want  ?" 

"  Are  you  sure,  sir,  that  it's  not  a  cut  of  my  whip  about 
the  ears  you  want  1  Conduct  me  to  where  Eeilly  is,  you 
rascal  \  do  you  pretend  to  know  the  individual  I  wish  to  see 
better  than  I  do  myself?    Push  along,  sirra." 

The  turnkey,  accordingly,  conducted  him  to  Eeilly's  cell, 
which,  considerably  to  his  surprise,  was  a  much  more  com- 
fortable one  than  had  been  assigned  to  the  baronet.  When 
they  had  reached  the  corridor  in   which  it  was  situated 


WILLY   11EILLY.  355 

jFolliard  said,  "Knock  at  the  door,  and  when  he  appears 
tell  him  that  /  wish  to  see  him." 

"  I  will,  your  honour." 

"  Say,  I  won't  detain  him  long." 

"  I  will,  your  honour." 

"  Hang  your  honour,  go  and  do  what  I  desire  you." 

"  I  will,  your  honour." 

Reilly's  astonishment  was  beyond  belief  on  learning  that 
his  vindictive  prosecutor  had  called  upon  him;  but  on 
more  mature  reflection,  and  comparing  what  had  happened 
before  with  the  only  motive  which  he  could  assign  for  such 
a  visit,  he  felt  pretty  certain  that  the  Squire  came  to  revive, 
in  his  own  person,  a  subject  which  he  had  before  proposed 
to  him  through  his  daughter.  There  was  no  other  earthly 
object  to  which  he  could  attribute  his  visit ;  but  of  course 
he  made  up  his  mind  to  receive  him  with  every  courtesy. 
At  length  Folliard  entered,  and  before  Reilly  had  time  to 
utter  a  syllable,  commenced  : 

"  Eeilly,"  said  he,  "  you  are  astonished  to  see  me  here  V* 

"  I  am,  sir,"  replied  Eeilly,  "  very  much." 

"  Yes,  I  thought  you  would  j  and  very  few  persons,  ex- 
cept myself,  would  come  upon  such  an  errand,  to  the  man 
that  has  disgraced  my  daughter,  myself,  and  my  family ; 
you  have  stained  our  name,  sir — a  name  that  was  never 
associated  with  anything  but  honour  and  purity,  until  you 
came  among  us." 

"  If  you  have  paid  me  this  visit,  sir,  only  for  the  purpose 
of  uttering  language  which  you  know  must  be  very  painful 
to  me,  I  would  rather  you  had  declined  to  call  upon  me  at 
all.  I  perceive  no  object  you  can  have  in  it,  unless  to 
gratify  a  feeling  of  enmity  on  your  part,  and  excite  one  of 
sorrow  on  mine.  I  say  sorrow,  because,  on  considering  our 
relative  positions,  and  knowing  the  impetuosity  of  your 
temper,  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  here ;  it  is  scarcely  generous 
in  you  to  come,  for  the  purpose  of  indulging  in  a  poor,  and 
what,  after  all,  may  be  an  equivocal  and  premature  triumph 
over  a  man,  whose  love  for  your  daughter,  you  must  know, 
will  seal  his  lips  against  the  expression  of  one  offensive 
word  towards  you." 

"  But  how,  let  me  ask,  sir,  do  you  know  what  brought 
me  here  ?     I  didn't  come  to  scold  you,  nor  to  triumph  over 


356  WILLY   REILLY.      . 

you ;  and  I  have  already  said  the  worst  I  shall  say.  I 
know  very  well  that  you  and  Whitecraf't  will  be  hanged, 
probably  from  the  same  rope  too,  but,  in  the  meantime,  I 
would  save  you  both  if  I  could.  I  fear,  indeed,  that  to 
save  him  is  out  of  the  question;  because  it  appears  that 
there 's  a  cartload  of  indictments  against  him." 

"How  could  you  doubt  it,  sir,  when  you  know  the  in- 
credible extent  of  his  villany,  both  private  and  public? 
and  yet  this  is  the  man  to  whom  you  would  have  married 
your  daughter !" 

"  No  ;  when  I  found  Helen  reduced  to  such  a  state  the 
morning  on  which  they  were  to  be  married,  I  told  her  at 
once  that  as  she  felt  so  bitterly  against  him  I  would  never 
suffer  him  to  become  her  husband.  Neither  will  I ;  if  he 
were  acquitted  to-morrow  I  would  tell  him  so ;  but  you, 
Eeilly,  love  my  daughter  for  her  own  sake." 

"  For  her  own  sake,  sir,  as  you  have  said,  I  love  her.  If 
she  had  millions,  it  could  not  increase  my  affection,  and  if 
she  had  not  a  penny,  it  would  not  diminish  it." 

"Well,  but  you  can  have  her  if  you  wish,  notwith- 
standing." 

Eeilly  first  looked  at  him  with  amazement ;  but  he  was 
go  thoroughly  acquainted  with  his  character,  both  from 
what  he  had  seen  and  heard  of  it,  that  his  amazement 
passed  away,  and  he  simply  replied  : 

"  Pray,  how,  sir  V 

"  Why,  I'll  tell  you  what,  Eeilly;  except  with  respect  to 
political  principles,  I  don't  think,  after  all,  that  there's  the 
difference  of  a  rush  between  the  Papist  and  the  Protestant 
Churches,  as  mere  religions.  My  own  opinion  is,  that 
there's  neither  of  them  any  great  shakes,  as  to  any  effect 
they  have  on  society,  unless  to  disturb  it.  I  have  known 
as  good  Papists  as  ever  I  did  Protestants,  and  indeed  I 
don't  know  why  a  Papist  should  not  be  as  good  a  man  as 
a  Protestant ;  nor  why  a  Protestant  should  not  be  as  good 
a  man  as  a  Papist,  on  the  other  hand.  Now  do  you  see 
what  I'm  driving  at  ?" 

"  Well,  I  can't  exactly  say  that  I  do,"  replied  Eeilly. 

"  Then  the  upshot  of  the  argument  is  this,  that  there  is 
not  a  toss-up  between  them,  and  any  man  getting  into  a 
scrape,  and  who  could  get  out  of  it  by  changing  from  one 


WILLY  REILLY.  357 

to  the  other — of  course,  I  mean  from  Popery  to  Pro- 
testantism— would  prove  himself  a  man  of  good  sound 
sense,  and  above  the  prejudices  of  the  world." 

The  truth  is,  Reilly  saw  ere  this  what  Folliard  was 
approaching,  and,  as  he  determined  to  allow  him  full  scope, 
his  reply  was  brief : 

"  You  seem  fond  of  indulging  in  speculation,  sir,"  replied 
Reilly,  with  a  smile ;  but  I  should  be  glad  to  know  why 
you  introduce  this  subject  to  me  ?" 

"To  youT  replied  Folliard;  "why,  who  the  devil  else 
should  or  could  I  introduce  it  to  with  such  propriety  1 
Here,  now,  are  two  religions ;  one's  not  sixpence  better  nor 
worse  than  the  other.  Now  you  belong  to  one  of  them, 
and  because  you  do,  you're  here  snug  and  fast.  I  say, 
then,  I  have  a  proposal  to  make  to  you :  you  are  yourself 
in  a  difficulty — you  have  placed  me  in  a  difficulty — and 
you  have  placed  poor  Helen  in  a  difficulty — which  if  any- 
thing happens  you,  I  think  will  break  her  heart,  poor 
child.  Now  you  can  take  her,  yourself,  and  me,  out  of  all 
our  difficulties,  if  you  have  onJy  sense  enough  to  shove  over 

from  the  old  P to  the  young  P .     As  a  Protestant, 

you  can  marry  Helen,  Reilly — but  as  a  Papist,  never !  and 
you  know  the  rest ;  for  if  you  are  obstinate,  and  blind  to 
your  own  interests,  I  must  do  my  duty." 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  ask,  sir,  whether  Miss  Folliard  is 
aware  of  this  mission  of  yours  to  me  f 

"She  aware!  She  never  dreamt  of  it;  but  I  have  pro- 
mised to  tell  her  the  result  after  dinner  to-day." 

"  Well,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  "  will  you  allow  me  to  state  to 
you  a  few  facts?" 

"  Certainly ;  go  on." 

"  In  the  first  place,  then,  such  is  your  daughter's  high 
and  exquisite  sense  of  integrity  and  honour,  that  if  I  con- 
sented to  the  terms  you  propose,  she  would  reject  me  with 
indignation  and  scorn,  as  she  ought  to  do.  There,  then,  is 
your  project  for  accomplishing  my  selfish  and  dishonest 
apostacy  given  to  the  winds.  Your  daughter,  sir,  is  too 
pure  in  all  her  moral  feelings,  and  too  noble-minded,  to 
take  to  her  arms  a  renegade  husband — a  renegade,  too,  not 
from  conviction,  but  from  selfish  and  mercenary  purposes." 
* "  Confound  the  thing,  this  is  but  splitting  hairs,  Reilly, 


358  WILLY  REILLY. 

and  talking  big  for  effect.  Speak,  however,  for  yourself; 
as  for  Helen,  I  know  very  well  that  in  spite  of  your  heroics 
and  hers  she'd  be  devilish  glad  you'd  become  a  Protestant, 
and  marry  her." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,  sir,  that  you  don't  know  your  own 
daughter;  but  as  for  me,  Mr.  Folliard,  if  one  word  of 
yours,  or  of  hers,  could  place  me  on  the  British  throne,  I 
would  not  abandon  my  religion.  Under  no  circumstances 
would  I  abandon  it;  but  least  of  all,  now*  that  it  is  so 
barbarously  persecuted  by  its  enemies.  This,  sir,  is  my 
final  determination." 

"But  do  you  know  the  alternative]" 

"  No,  sir,  nor  do  you." 

"  Don't  I,  faith  1  Why,  the  alternative  is  simply  this — 
either  marriage  or  hanging !" 

"Be  it  so;  in  that  case  I  will  die  like  a  man  of  honour 
and  a  true  Christian  and  Catholic,  as  I  hope  I  am." 

"  As  a  true  fool,  Eeilly — as  a  true  fool.  I  took  this  step 
privately,  out  of  respect  for  your  character.  See  how  many 
of  your  creed  become  Protestants  for  the  sake  of  mere  pro- 
perty; think  how  many  of  them  join  our  Church  for  the 
purpose  of  ousting  their  own  fathers  and  relatives  from 
their  estates;  and  what  is  it  all,  on  their  parts,  but  the 
consequence  of  an  enlightened  judgment  that  shows  them 
the  errors  of  their  old  creed,  and  the  truth  of  ours?  I 
think,  Reilly,  you  are  loose  about  the  brains." 

"That  may  be,  sir,  but  you  will  never  find  me  loose 
about  my  principles." 

"  Are  you  aware,  sir,  that  Helen  is  to  appear  against  you 
as  an  evidence  T 

"  No,  sir,  I  am  not,  neither  do  I  believe  it.  But  now,  sir, 
I  beg  you  to  terminate  this  useless  and  unpleasant  inter- 
view. I  ean  look  into  my  own  conscience  with  satisfaction, 
and  am  prepared  for  the  worst.  If  the  scaffold  is  to  be  my 
fate,  I  cannot  but  remember  that  many  a  noble  spirit  has 
closed  the  cares  of  an  unhappy  life  upon  it.  I  wish  you 
good  day,  Mr.  Folliard." 

"BytheBoyne!  you  are  the  most  obstinate  blockhead 
that  ever  lived;  but  I've  done;  I  did  all  in  my  power  to 
save  you — yet  to  no  purpose.  Upon  my  soul  I'll  come  to 
your  execution." 


WILLY   REILLY.  359 

"And  if  you  do,  you  will  see  me  die  like  a  man,  and  a 
gentleman ;  may  I  numbly  add,  like  a  Christian !" 

The  Squire,  on  his  way  home,  kept  up  a  long,  low 
whistle,  broken  only  by  occasional  soliloquies,  in  which 
Reilly's  want  of  common  sense,  and  neglect  not  only  of  his 
temporal  interests,  but  of  his  life  itself,  were  the  prevailing 
sentiments.  He  regretted  his  want  of  success,  which  he 
imputed  altogether  to  Eeilly's  obstinacy,  instead  of  his  in- 
tegrity, firmness,  and  honour. 

This  train  of  reflection  threw  him  into  one  of  those 
capricious  fits  of  resentment  so  peculiar  to  his  unsteady 
temper,  and  as  he  went  along  he  kept  lashing  himself  up 
into  a  red  heat  of  indignation  and  vengeance  against  that 
unfortunate  gentleman.  After  dinner  that  day,  he  felt 
somewhat  puzzled  as  to  whether  he  ought  to  communicate 
to  his  daughter  the  result  of  his  interview  with  Reilly,  or 
not.  Upon  consideration,  however,  he  deemed  it  more 
prudent  to  avoid  the  subject  altogether,  for  he  felt  appre- 
hensive, that,  however  she  might  approve  of  her  lover's 
conduct,  the  knowledge  of  his  fate,  which  depended  on  it, 
would  only  plunge  her  into  deeper  distress.  The  evening, 
consequently,  passed  without  any  allusion  to  the  subject, 
unless  a  peculiar  tendency  to  melody,  on  his  part,  might 
be  taken  to  mean  something ;  to  this  we  might  add 
short,  abrupt  ejaculations  unconsciously  uttered — such  as — 
"Whew,  whew,  whew-o-whew-o — hang  the  fellow  !  Whew, 
whew-o-whew — he's  a  cursed  goose ;  but  an  obstinate — 
whew-whew-o-whew-o.  Ay,  but  no  matter — well — whew, 
whew,  whew-o,  whew,  whew !  Helen,  a  cup  of  tea.  Now, 
Helen,  do  you  know  a  discovery  I  have  made — but  how 
could  you  1  No,  you  don't,  of  course,  but  listen  and  pay 
attention  to  me,  because  it  deeply  affects  myself." 

The  poor  girl,  apprehensive  that  he  was  about  to  divulge 
some  painful  secret,  became  pale  and  a  good  deal  agitated ; 
she  gave  him  a  long  inquiring  look,  but  said  nothing. 

"Yes,  Helen,  and  the  discovery  is  this:  I  find  from 
experience,  that  tea  and  Burgundy — or,  indeed,  tea  and  any 
kind  of  wine — don't  agree  with  my  constitution :  curse  the 
fel — whew,  whew,  whew,  whew-o-whew ;  no,  the  confounded 
mixture  turns  my  stomach  into  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
a  bag  of  aquafortis — if  he  had  but  common — whew " 


360  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  Wei!,  but,  papa,  why  do  you  take  tea  then?' 

"  Because  I'm  an  old  fool,  Helen  ;  and  if  I  am,  there  are 
some  young  ones  besides ;  but  it  can't  be  helped  now— 
whew,  whew — it  was  done  for  the  best." 

In  this  manner  be  went  on  for  a  considerable  time,  ejacu- 
lating mysteries  and  enigmas,  until  he  finished  the  second 
bottle,  after  which  he  went  to  bed. 

It  may  be  necessary  to  state  here,  that,  notwithstanding 
the  incredible  force  and  tenderness  of  his  affection  for  his 
daughter,  he  had,  ever  since  her  elopement  with  Reilly, 
kept  her  under  the  strictest  surveillance,  and  in  the  greatest 
seclusion ;  that  is  to  say,  as  the  proverb  has  it,  "  he  locked 
the  stable  door  when  the  steed  was  stolen ;"  or  if  he  did 
not  realise  the  aphorism,  he  came  very  near  it. 

Time,  however,  passes,  and  the  Assizes  were  at  hand ;  a 
fearful  Avatar  of  judicial  power  to  the  guilty.  The  struggle 
between  the  parties  who  were  interested  in  the  fate  of 
Whitecraft,  and  those  who  felt  the  extent  of  his  un- 
paralleled guilt,  and  the  necessity  not  merely  of  making 
him  an  example,  but  of  punishing  him  for  his  enormous 
crimes,  was  dreadful.  Tne  infatuation  of  political  rancour 
on  one  side,  an  infatuation  which  could  perceive  nothing 
but  the  virtue  of  high  and  resolute  Protestantism  in  his 
conduct,  blinded  his  supporters  to  the  enormity  of  his 
conduct,  and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  they  left  no  stone 
unturned  to  save  his  life.  As  we  said,  however,  they  were 
outnumbered ;  but  still,  they  did  not  despair.  lieilly's 
friends  had  been  early  in  the  legal  market,  and  succeeded 
in  retaining  some  oi  the  ablest  men  at  the  bar,  his  leading 
counsel  being  the  celebrated  advocate  Fox,  who  was  at  that 
time  one  of  the  most  distinguished  men  at  the  Irish  bar. 
Helen,  as  the  Assizes  approached,  broke  down  so  completely 
in  her  health,  that  it  was  felt,  if  she  remained  in  that 
state,  that  she  would  be  unable  to  attend ;  and  although 
Keilly's  trial  was  first  on  the  list,  his  opposing  counsel  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  it  postponed  for  a  day  or  two,  in  order 
that  an  important  witness,  then  ill  he  said,  might  be  able 
to  appear  on  their  part. 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  go  through  the  details  of  the 
trial  of  the  Eed  Kapparee.     The  evidence  of  Mary  Mahon, 


WILLY   REILLY.  361 

Fergus  O'Reilly,  and  the  sheriff,  was  complete ;  the  chain 
was  unbroken;  the  change  of  apparel — the  dialogue  in 
Mary  Mahon's  cabin,  in  which  he  avowed  the  fact  of  his 
having  robbed  the  sheriff — the  identification  of  his  person 
by  the  said  sheriff  in  the  farmer's  house,  as  before  stated, 
left  nothing  for  the  jury  to  do  but  to  bring  in  a  verdict  of 
guilty.  Mercy  was  out  of  the  question.  The  hardened 
ruffian — the  treacherous  ruffian — who  had  lent  himself  to 
the  blood-thirsty  schemes  of  Whitecraft — and  all  this  came 
out  upon  his  trial,  not  certainly  to  the  advantage  of  the 
baronet — this  hardened  and  treacherous  ruffian,  we  say, 
who  had  been  a  scourge  to  that  part  of  the  country  for 
years,  now  felt,  when  the  verdict  of  guilty  was  brought  in 
against  him,  just  as  a  smith's  anvil  might  feel  when  struck 
by  a  feather.  On  hearing  it,  he  growled  a  hideous  laugh, 
and  exclaimed : 

"  To  the  divil  I  pitch  you  all ;  I  wish,  though,  that  I  had 
Tom  Bradley,  the  prophecy  man,  here,  who  tould  me  that 
I'd  never  be  hanged — and  that  the  rope  was  never  born  for 
me." 

"  If  the  rope  was  not  born  for  you,"  observed  the  judge, 
"  I  fear  I  shall  be  obliged  to  inform  you  that  you  were  born 
for  the  rope.  Your  life  has  been  an  outrage  upon  civilised 
society." 

"Why,  you  ould  dog!"  said  the  Rapparee,  "you  can't 
hang  me ;  haven't  I  a  pardon  1  Didn't  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft 
get  me  a  pardon  from  the  Government  for  turnin'  against 
the  Catholics,  and  tellin'  him  where  to  find  the  priests  ? 
Why,  you  joulter-headed  ould  dog,  you  can't  hang  me,  or, 
if  you  do,  I'll  leave  them  behind  me  that  will  put  such  a 
half-ounce  pill  into  your  guts  as  will  make  you  turn  up  the 
whites  of  your  eyes  like  a  duck  in  thundher.  You'll  hang 
me  for  robbery,  you  ould  sinner ! .  But  what  is  one-half  the 
world  doin'  but  robbin'  the  other  half?  and  what  is  the 
other  half  doin'  but  robbin'  them]  As  for  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft,  if  he  desaved  me  by  lies  and  falsehoods,  as  I'm 
afraid  he  did,  all  I  say  is,  that  if  I  had  him  here  for  one 
minute,  I'd  show  him  a  trick  he'd  never  tell  to  mortal. 
Now  go  on,  big- wig." 

Notwithstanding  the  solemnity  of  the  position  in  which 
this  obdurate  ruffian  was,  placed,  the  judge  found  it  nearly 


362  WILLY   REILLY. 

impossible  to  silence  the  laughter  of  the  audience  and  pre- 
serve order  in  the  court.  At  length  he  succeeded,  and 
continued  his  brief  address  to  the  Rapparee  : 

"Hardened  and  impenitent  reprobate,  in  the  course  of 
my  judicial  duties,  onerous  and  often  painful  as  they  are 
and  have  been,  I  must  say,  that  although  it  has  fallen  to 
my  lot  to  pronounce  the  awful  sentence  of  death  upon 
many  an  unfeeling  felon,  I  am  bound  to  say  that  a  public 
malefactor  so  utterly  devoid  of  all  the  feelings  which 
belong  to  man,  and  so  strongly  impregnated  with  those  of 
the  savage  animal  as  you  are,  has  never  stood  in  a  dock 
before  me,  nor  probably  before  any  other  judge,  living  or 
dead.  Would  it  be  a  waste  of  language  to  enforce  upon 
you  the  necessity  of  repentance  1  I  fear  it  would ;  but  it 
matters  not ;  the  guilt  of  impenitence  be  on  your  own  head, 
still  I  must  do  my  duty;  try,  then,  and  think  of  death,  and 
a  far  more  awful  judgment  than  mine.  Think  of  the  ne- 
cessity you  have  for  supplicating  mercy  at  the  throne  of 
your  Redeemer,  who  Himself  died  for  you  and  for  all  of  us 
between  two  thieves." 

"That  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  case;  I' never  was  a 
thief ;  I  robbed  like  an  honest  man  on  the  king's  highways ; 
but  as  for  thievin',  why,  you  ould  sinner,  I  never  stole  a 
farthing's  worth  in  my  life.  Don't,  then,  pitch  such 
beggarly  comparisons  into  my  teeth.  I  never  did  what 
you  and  your  class  often  did ;  I  never  robbed  the  poor  ill 
the  name  of  the  blessed  laws  of  the  land ;  I  never  oppressed 
the  widow  or  the  orphan ;  and  for  all  that  I  took  from 
those  that  did  oppress  them,  the  divil  a  grain  of  sorrow  or 
repentance  I  feel  for  it,  nor  ever  will  feel  for  it.  Oh ! 
mother  of  Moses  !  if  I  had  a  glass  of  whiskey !" 

The  judge  was  obliged  to  enforce  silence  a  second  time  ; 
for  to  tell  the  truth,  there  was  something  so  ludicrously 
impenitent  in  the  conduct  of  this  hardened  convict,  that 
the  audience  could  not  resist  it,  especially  when  it  is  re- 
membered that  the  sympathies  of  the  lower  Irish  are 
always  with  such  culprits. 

"Well,"  continued  the  judge,  when  silence  was  again 
restored,  "your  unparalleled  obduracy  has  gained  one 
point ;  it  was  my  intention  to  have  ordered  you  for  execu- 
tion to-morrow,  at  the  hour  of  twelve  o'clock ;  but,  as  a 


WILLY  REILLY.  363 

Christian  man,  I  could  not  think  for  a  moment  of  hurrying 
you  into  eternity  in  your  present  state.  The  sentence  of 
the  court  then  is,  that  you  be  taken  from  the  dock  in  which 
you  now  stand,  to  the  prison  from  whence  you  came,  and 
that  from  thence  you  be  brought  to  the  place  of  execution, 
on  next  Saturday,  and  there  be  hanged  by  the  neck  until 
you  be  dead,  and  may  God  have  mercy  on  your  soul !" 

The  Rapparee  gazed  at  him  with  a  look  of  the  most 
hardened  effrontery,  and  exclaimed — "  Is  it  in  earnest  you 
are?"  after  which  he  was  once  more  committed  to  his  cell, 
loaded  with  heavy  chains,  which  he  wore,  by  the  way, 
during  his  trial. 

Now,  in  order  to  account  for  his  outrageous  conduct,  we 
must  make  a  disclosure  to  the  reader.  There  is  in  and 
about  all  gaols  a  certain  officer  yclept  a  hangman — an 
officer  who  is  permitted  a  freer  ingress  and  egress  than 
almost  any  other  person  connected  with  those  gloomy 
establishments.  This  hangman,  who  resided  in  the  prison, 
had  a  brother,  whom  Sir  Eobert  Whitecraft  had  hanged, 
and,  it  was  thought  innocently.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the 
man  in  question  was  heard  to  utter  strong  threats  of 
vengeance  against  Sir  Robert,  for  having  his  brother, 
whose  innocence  he  asserted,  brought  to  execution.  In 
some  time  after  this  a  pistol  was  fired  one  night  at  Sir 
Robert,  from  behind  a  hedge,  which  missed  him;  but  as 
his  myrmidons  were  with  him,  and  the  night  was  light,  a 
pursuit  took  place,  and  the  guilty  wretch  was  taken 
prisoner,  with  the  pistol  on  his  person,  still  warm  after 
having  been  discharged.  The  consequence  was  that  he 
was  condemned  to  death.  But  it  so  happened  that  an 
this  period,  although  there  were  five  or  six  executions  to 
take  place,  yet  there  was  no  hangman  to  be  had,  that. 
officer  having  died  suddenly,  after  a  fit  of  liquor,  and  the 
sheriff  would  have  been  obliged  to  discharge  the  office  with 
his  own  hands  unless  a  finisher  of  the  law  could  be  found. 
In  brief,  he  was  found,  and  in  the  person  of  the  individual 
alluded  to,  who,  in  consequence  of  his  consenting  to  accept; 
the  office,  got  a  pardon  from  the  Grown.  Now,  this  man 
and  the  Rapparee  had  been  old  acquaintances,  and  renewed 
their  friendship  in  prison.  Through  the  means  of  the 
hangman,  O'Donnel  got  in  as  much  whiskey  as  he  pleased, 


364  WILLY   REILLY. 

and  we  need  scarcely  say  that  they  often  got  intoxicated 
together.  The  secret,  therefore,  which  we  had  to  disclose 
to  the  reader,  in  explanation  of  the  Rapparee's  conduct  at 
his  trial,  was  simply  this,  that  the  man  was  three-quarters 
drunk. 

After  trial  he  was  placed  in  a  darker  dungeon  than 
before ;  but  such  was  the  influence  of  the  worthy  execu- 
tioner with  every  officer  of  the  gaol,  that  he  was  permitted 
to  go  either  in  or  out  without  search,  and  as  he  often  gave 
a  "  slug,"  as  he  called  it,  to  the  turnkeys,  they  consequently 
allowed  him,  in  this  respect,  whatever  privileges  he  wished. 
Even  the  Rapparee's  dungeon  was  not  impenetrable  to 
him,  especially  as  he  put  the  matter  on  a  religious  footing, 
to  wit,  that  as  the  unfortunate  robber  was  not  allowed  the 
spiritual  aid  of  his  own  clergy,  he  himself  was  the  only 
person  left  to  prepare  him  for  death ;  which  he  did  with 
the  whiskey-bottle. 

The  Assizes,  on  that  occasion,  were  protracted  to  an  un- 
usual length.  The  country  was  in  a  most  excited  state, 
and  party  feeling  ran  fearfully  high.  Nothing  was  talked 
of  but  the  two  trials,  par  excellence,  to  wife,  that  of  White- 
craft  and  Rsilly;  and  scarcely  a  fair  or  market,  for  a  con- 
siderable time  previous,  ever  came  round,  in  which  there 
was  not  a  battle  on  the  subject  of  either  one  or  the  other 
of  them,  and  no5  unfrequently  of  both.  Nobody  was 
surprised  at  the  conviction  of  the  Red  Rapparee ;  but,  on 
the  contrary,  every  one  was  glad  that  the  country  had  at 
last  got  rid  of  him. 

Poor  Helen,  however,  was  not  permitted  to  remain  quiet, 
as  she  had  expected.  When  Mr.  Doldrum  had  furnished 
the  leading  counsel  with  his  brief  and  a  list  of  the  witnesses, 
the  latter  gentleman  was  surprised  to  see  the  name  of 
Helen  Folliard  among  them. 

"How  is  this1?'5  he  inquired;  "is  not  this  the  celebrated 
beauty  who  eloped  with  him?" 

"It  is,  sir,"  replied  Doldrum. 

"But,"  proceeded  the  other,  "you  have  not  instructed 
me  in  the  nature  of  the  evidence  she  is  prepared  to 
give." 

"  She  is  deeply  penitent,  sir,  and  in  a  very  feeble  state  of 


WILLY  REILLY.  365 

health;  so  much  so,  that  we  were  obliged  to  leave  the 
tendency  of  her  evidence  to  be  brought  out  on  the  trial." 

"  Have  you  subpoenaed  her  V 

"No,  sir." 

"And  why  not,  Mr.  Doldrum?  Don't  you  know  that 
there  is  no  understanding  the  caprices  of  women  %  You 
ought  to  have  subpoenaed  her ;  because,  if  she  be  a  leading 
evidence,  she  may  still  change  her  mind,  and  leave  us  in  the 
lurch." 

"I  certainly  did  not  subpoena  her,"  replied  Doldrum, 
"because,  when  I  mentioned  it  to  her  father,  he  told  me 
that  if  I  attempted  it  he  would  break  my  head.  It  was 
enough,  he  said,  that  she  had  given  her  promise — a  thing, 
he  added,  which  she  was  never  known  to  break." 

"Go  to  her  again,  Doldrum;  for  unless  we  know  what 
she  can  prove  we  will  be  only  working  in  the  dark.  Try 
her,  at  all  events,  and  glean  what  you  can  out  of  her.  Her 
father  tells  me  she  is  somewhat  better,  so  I  don't  apprehend 
you  will  have  much  difficulty  in  seeing  her." 

Doldrum  did  see  her,  and  was  astonished  at  the  striking 
change  which  had,  in  so  short  a  time,  taken  place  in  her 
appearance.  She  was  pale,  and  exhibited  all  the  symptoms 
of  an  invalid,  with  the  exception  of  her  eyes,  which  were 
not  merely  brilliant,  but  dazzling,  and  full  of  a  fire  that 
flashed  from  them  with  something  like  triumph,  whenever 
her  attention  was  directed  to  the  purport  of  her  testimony. 
On  this  subject  they  saw  that  it  would  be  quite  useless, 
and  probably  worse  than  useless,  to  press  her,  and  they  did 
not,  consequently,  put  her  to  the  necessity  of  specifying  the 
purport  of  her  evidence. 

"  I  have  already  stated,"  said  she,  "  that  I  shall  attend 
the  trial;  that  ought,  and  must  be  sufficient  for  you.  I 
beg,  then,  you  will  withdraw,  sir.  My  improved  health 
will  enable  me  to  attend,  and  you  may  rest  assured  that  if 
I  have  life  I  shall  be  there,  as  I  have  already  told  you; 
but,  I  say,  that  if  you  wish  to  press  me  for  the  nature  of 
my  evidence,  you  shall  have  it,"  and,  as  she  spoke,  her  eyes 
flashed  fearfully,  as  they  were  in  the  habit  of  doing  when- 
ever she  felt  deeply  excited.  Folliard  himself  became 
apprehensive  of  the  danger  which  might  result  from  the 
discussion  of  any  subject  calculated  to  disturb  her,  and 


366  WILLY  REILLY. 

insisted  that  she  should  be  allowed  to  take  her  own  way. 
In  the  meantime,  after  they  had  left  her,  at  her  own 
request,  her  father  informed  the  attorney  that  she  was 
getting  both  strong  and  cheerful,  in  spite  of  her  looks. 

"To  be  sure,"  said  he,  "she  is  pale;  but  that's  only 
natural,  after  her  recent  slight  attack,  and  all  the  excite- 
ment and  agitation  she  has  for  some  time  past  undergone. 
She  sings  and  plays  now,  although  I  have  heard  neither  a 
soag  nor  a  tune  from  her  for  a  long  time  past.  In  the 
evening,  too,  she  is  exceedingly  cheerful  when  we  sit 
together  in  the  drawing-room ;  and  she  often  laughs  more 
heartily  than  I  ever  knew  her  to  do  before  in  my  life. 
Now,  do  you  think,  Doldrum,  if  she  was  breaking  her  heart 
about  Reilly  that  she  would  be  in  such  spirits  ?" 

"No,  sir;  she  would  be  melancholy  and  silent,  and 
would  neither  sing,  nor  laugh,  nor  play ;  at  least,  I  felt  so 
when  I  was  in  love  with  Miss  Swithers,  who  kept  me  in  a 
state  of  equilibrium  for  better  than  two  years;  but  that 
wasn't  the  worst  of  it,  for  she  knocked  the  loyalty  clean 
out  of  me,  besides;  indeed,  so  decidedly  so,  that  I  never 
once  sang  Lillibullero  during  the  whole  period  of  my  attach- 
ment, and  be  hanged  to  her." 

"  And  what  became  of  her  V* 

"  Why,  she  married  my  clerk,  who  used  to  serve  my  love 
letters  upon  her;  and  when  I  expected  to  come  in  by 
execution,  that  is,  by  marriage,  that  cursed  little  sheriff, 
Cupid,  made  a  return  of  nulla  bona.  She  and  Sam  Snivel 
— a  kind  of  half  Puritan — entered  a  ^'sappearance,  and  I 
never  saw  them  since ;  but  I  am  told  they  are  in  America. 
From  what  you  tell  me,  sir,  I  have  no  doubt  that  Miss 
Folliard  will  make  a  capital  witness.  In  fact,  Reilly  ought 
to  feel  proud  of  the  honour  of  being  hanged  by  her 
evidence — she  will  be  a  host  in  herself." 

We  have  already  stated  that  the  leading  counsel  against 
Reilly  had  succeeded  in  getting  his  trial  postponed,  until 
Miss  Folliard  should  arrive  at  a  sufficient  state  of  health  to 
appear  against  him.  In  the  meantime,  the  baronet's  trial, 
which  was  in  a  political,  indeed,  we  might  say,  a  national 
point  of  view,  of  far  more  importance  than  Reilly's,  was  to 
come  on  next  day.  In  the  general  extent  of  notoriety  or 
fame,  Reilly  had  got  in  advance — though  not  much — of  his 


WILLY  REILLY.  367 

implaeable  rival.  The  two  trials  were,  in  fact,  so  closely 
united  by  the  relative  position  of  the  parties,  that  public 
opinion  was  strangely  and  strongly  divided  between  them. 
Reilly  and  his  Cooleen  Bawn  had,  by  the  unhappy  pecu- 
liarity of  their  fate,  excited  the  interest  of  all  the  youthful 
and  loving  part  of  society — an  interest  which  was  necessarily 
reflected  upon  Whitecraft,  as  Reilly's  rival,  independently 
of  the  hold  which  his  forthcoming  fate  had  upon  grave 
and  serious  politicians.  Reilly's  leading  counsel,  Fox,  a 
man  of  great  judgment  and  ability,  gave  it  as  his  opinion, 
that  in  consequence  of  the  exacerbated  state  of  feeling 
produced  against  the  Catholics  by  the  prosecution  of 
Whitecraft — to  appease  whom,  the  opinion  went  that  it 
was  instituted — it  seemed  unlikely  that  Reilly  had  a  single 
chance.  Had  his  trial,  he  said,  taken  place  previous  to 
that  of  Whitecraft's  he  might  have  escaped  many  of  the 
consequences  of  Whitecraft's  conviction ;  but  now,  should 
the  latter  be  convicted,  the  opposing  party  would  die  in  the 
jury-box  rather  than  let  Reilly  escape. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

PREPARATIONS— JURY    OF    THE   OLDEN   TIME— THE   SCALES 
OF  JUSTICE. 

T  last  the  trial  came  on ;  and  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft, 
the  great  champion  of  Protestantism — a  creed  which 
he  did  not  believe — was  conducted  into  the  court- 
house and  placed  in  the  dock.  He  was  dressed  in  his  best 
apparel,  in  order  to  distinguish  himself  from  common 
culprits,  and  to  give  this  poor  external  evidence  of  his 
rank,  with  a  hope  that  it  might  tell,  to  a  certain  extent  at 
least,  upon  the  feeling  of  the  jury.  When  placed  in  the 
dock,  a  general  buzz  and  bustle  agitated  the  whole  court. 
His  friends  became  alert,  and  whispered  to  each  other  with 
much  earnestness,  and  a  vast  number  of  them  bowed  to 
him,  and  shook  hands  with  him,  and  advised  him  to  be 


363  WILLY  KEILLY. 

cool,  and  keep  up  his  spirits.  His  appearance,  however, 
was  anything  but  firm ;  his  face  was  deadly  pale,  his  eyes 
dull  and  cowardly,  his  knees  trembled  so  much,  that  he 
was  obliged  to  support  himself  on  the  front  of  the  dock. 

At  length  the  trial  commenced,  and  the  case  having  been 
opened  by  a  young  lawyer,  a  tail  intellectual-looking  man, 
about  the  middle  age,  of  pale  but  handsome  features,  and 
an  eye  of  singular  penetration  and  brilliancy,  rose ;  and 
after  pulling  up  his  gown  at  the  shoulders,  and  otherwise 
adjusting  it,  proceeded  to  lay  a  statement  of  this  extraor- 
dinary case  before  the  jury. 

He  dwelt  upon  "  the  pain  which  he  felt  in  contemplating 
a  gentleman  of  rank  and  vast  wealth  occupying  the 
degraded  position  of  a  felon ;  but  not,  he  was  sorry  to  say, 
of  a  common  felon.  The  circumstances,  my  lord,  and 
gentlemen  of  the  jury,  which  have  brought  the  prisoner 
before  you  this  day,  involve  a  long  catalogue  of  crimes  that 
as  far  transcend,  in  the  hideousness  of  their  guilt,  the 
offences  of  a  common  felon,  as  his  rank  and  position  in  life 
do  that  of  the  humblest  villain  who  <>ver  stood  before  a 
court  of  justice. 

"The  position,  gentlemen,  of  this  country  has  for  a  long  • 
series  of  years  been  peculiar,  anomalous,  and  unhappy. 
Divided  as  it  is,  and  has  been,  by  the  bitter  conflict  between 
two  opposing  creeds  and  parties,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered 
at  that  it  should  be  a  melancholy  scene  of  misery,  destitu- 
tion, famine,  and  crime ;  and,  unhappily,  it  presents  to  us 
the  frightful  aspect  of  all  these.  The  nature,  however,  of 
the  conflicts  between  those  creeds  and  parties,  inasmuch  as 
it  bears  upon  the  case  of  the  prisoner,  gentlemen,  who  now 
stands  for  trial  and  a  verdict  at  your  hands,  is  such  as 
forces  me,  on  that  account,  to  dwell  briefly  upon  it.  In 
doing  so,  I  will  have  much,  for  the  sake  of  our  common 
humanity,  to  regret  and  to  deplore.  It  is  a  fundamental 
principle,  gentlemen,  in  our  great  and  glorious  Constitution, 
that  the  paramount  end  and  object  of  our  laws  is  to  protect 
the  person,  the  liberty,  and  the  property  of  the  subject. 
But  there  is  something,  gentlemen,  stiil  dearer  to  us  than 
either  liberty,  person,  or  property;  something,  which  claims 
a  protection  from  those  laws  that  stamps  them  with  a 
nobler  and  a  loftier  character,  when  it   is   afforded,  and 


WILLY  REILLY.  360 

weaves  them  into  the  hearts  and  feelings  of  men  of  all 
creeds,  when  this  divine  mission  of  the  law  is  fulfilled.  I 
allude,  gentlemen,  to  the  inalienable  right  of  every  man  to 
worship  God  freely,  and  according  to  his  own  conscience*— 
without  restraint — without  terror — without  oppression; 
and,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  without  persecution.  A  man,  or 
a  whole  people,  worship  God,  we  will  assume,  sincerely, 
according  to  their  notions  of  what  is  right,  and,  I  say, 
gentlemen,  that  the  individual  who  persecutes  that  man,  or 
those  people,  for  piously  worshipping  their  Creator  commits 
blasphemy  against  the  Almighty — and  stains  as  it  were  the 
mercj^-seat  with  blood. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  let  me  ask  you  what  has  been 
the  state  and  condition  of  this  unhappy  and  distracted 
country?  I  have  mentioned  two  opposing  creeds,  and 
consequently  two  opposing  parties,  and  I  have  also  men- 
tioned persecution ;  but  let  me  also  ask  you  again  on  which 
side  has  the  persecution  existed?  Look  at  your  Roman 
Catholic  fellow-subjects,  and  ask  yourselves  to  what  terrible 
outburst  of  political  and  religious  vengeance  have  they  not 
been  subjected1?  Bat  it  is  said  they  are  nob  faithful  and 
loyal  subjects,  and  that  they  detest  the  laws.  Well,  let  us 
consider  this — let  us  take  a  cursory  view  of  all  that  the 
spirit  and  operation  of  the  laws  have  left  them  to  be  thank- 
ful for — have  brought  to  bear  upon  them  for  the  purpose, 
we  must  suppose,  of  securing  their  attachment  and  their 
loyalty.  Let  us,  gentlemen,  calmly  and  solemnly,  and  in  a 
Christian  temper,  take  a  brief  glance  at  the  advantages 
which  the  free  and  glorious  spirit  of  the  British  Constitu- 
tion has  held  out  to  them,  in  order  to  secure  their  allegi- 
ance. In  the  first  place,  their  nobles  and  their  gentry  have 
been  deprived  of  their  property,  and  the  right  of  tenure  has 
been  denied  even  to  the  people.  Ah,  my  lord,  and  gentle- 
men of  the  jury,  what  ungrateful  and  disloyal  miscreant 
could  avoid  loving  a  Constitution,  and  hugging  to  his  grate- 
ful heart  laws  which  showered  down  such  blessings  upon 
him,  and  upon  all  those  who  belong  to  a  creed  so  favoured  I 
But  it  would  seem  to  have  been  felt  that  these  laws  had 
still  a  stronger  claim  upon  their  affections.  They  would 
protect  their  religion  as  they  did  their  property;  and  in 
order  to  attach  them  still  more  strongly,  they  shut  up  their 

2  a 


370  WILLY  REILLY. 

places  of  worship— they  proscribed,  and  banished,  and  hung 
their  clergy — they  hung  or  shot  the  unfortunate  people 
who  fled  to  worship  God  in  the  desert — in  mountain  fast- 
nesses and  in  caves,  and  threw  their  dead  bodies  to  find  a 
tomb  in  the  entrails  of  the  birds  of  the  air,  or  the  dogs 
which  even  persecution  had  made  mad  with  hunger.  Bat 
again — for  this  pleasing  panorama  is  not  yet  closed — the 
happy  Catholics,  who  must  have  danced  with  delight  under 
the  privileges  of  such  a  Constitution,  were  deprived  of  the 
right  to  occupy  and  possess  all  civil  offices — their  enterprise 
was  crushed — their  industry  made  subservient  to  the  rapa- 
city of  their  enemies,  and  not  to  their  own  prosperity, 
Eut  this  is  far  from  being  all.  The  sources  of  knowledge — 
knowledge  which  only  can  enlighten  and  civilise  the  mind, 
prevent  crime,  and  promote  the  progress  of  human  society 
— these  sources  of  knowledge,  I  say,  were  sealed  against 
them;  they  were  consequently  left  to  ignorance,  and  its 
inseparable  associate — vice.  All  those  noble  principles 
which  result  from  education,  and  which  lead  youth  into 
those  moral  footsteps  in  which  they  should  tread,  were 
made  criminal  in  the  Catholic  to  pursue,  and  impossible  to 
attain  ;  and  having  thus  been  reduced  by  ignorance  to  the 
perpetration  of  those  crimes  which  it  uniformly  produces — 
the  people  were  punished  for  that  which  oppressive  laws 
had  generated,  and  the  ignorance  which  was  forced  upon 
them  was  turned  into  a  penalty  and  a  persecution.  They 
were  first  made  ignorant  by  one  Act  of  Parliament,  and 
then  punished  by  another  for  those  crimes  which  ignorance 
produces. 

"And  now,  my  lord,  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  it 
remains  for  me  to  take  another  view  of  the  state  and  con- 
dition of  this  wretched  country.  Perhaps  there  is  not  in 
the  world  so  hideously  a  penal  code  of  laws  as  that  which 
appertains  to  the  civil  and  religious  rights  of  our  unfortu- 
nate Eoman  Catholic  countrymen.  It  is  not  that  this  code 
^s  fierce,  inhuman,  unchristian,  barbarous,  and  Draconic, 
and  conceived  in  a  spirit  of  blood — because  it  might  be  all 
this,  and  yet,  through  the  liberality  and  benevolence  of 
those  into  whose  hands  it  ought  to  be  entrusted  for  admin- 
istration, much  of  its  dreadful  spirit  might  be  mitigated. 
And  I  am  bound  to  say  that  a  large  and  important  class  of 


WILLY  REILLY.  3,71 

the  Protestant  community  look  upon  such  a  code  nearly 
with  as  much  horror  as  the  Catholics  themselves.  Un- 
fortunately, however,  in  every  state  of  society  and  of  law 
analogous  to  ours,  a  certain  class  of  men,  say  rather  of 
monsters,  is  sure  to  spring  up,  as  it  were,  from  hell,  their 
throats  still  parched  and  heated  with  that  insatiable  thirst 
which  the  guilty  glutton  felt  before  them,  and  which  they 
now  are  determined  to  slake  with  blood.  For  some  of 
these  men  the  apology  of  selfishness,  an  anxiety  to  raise 
themselves  out  of  the  struggles  of  genteel  poverty,  and  a 
wolfish  wish  to  earn  the  wages  of  oppression,  might  be 
pleaded;  although,  Heaven  knows,  it  is  at  best  but  a 
desperate  and  cowardly  apology.  On  the  other  hand,  there 
are  men  not  merely  independent,  but  wealthy,  who,  imbued 
with  a  fierce  and  unreasoning  bigotry,  and  stained  by  a 
black  and  unscrupulous  ambition,  start  up  into  the  front 
ranks  of  persecution,  and  carry  fire,  and  death,  and  murder 
as  they  go  along,  and  all  this  for  the  sake  of  adding  to 
their  reprobate  names  a  title — a  title  earned  by  the  shedding 
of  innocent  blood — a  title  earned  by  the  oppression  and 
persecution  of  their  unresisting  fellow-subjects — a  title 
perhaps  that  of  baronet ;  if  I  am  mistaken  iu  this,  the  in- 
dividual who  stands  before  you  in  that  dock  could,  for  he 
might,  set  me  right. 

"  In  fact,  who  are  those  who  have  lent  themselves  with 
such  delight  to  the  execution  of  bad  laws  ? — of  laws  that, 
for  the  sake  of  religion  and  Christianity,  never  ought  to 
have  been  enacted  1  Are  they  men  of  moral  and  Christian 
lives? — men  whose  walk  has  been  edifying  in  the  sight  of 
their  fellows  ?  Are  they  men  to  whom  society  could  look  up 
as  examples  of  private  virtue  and  the  decorous  influence  of 
religion  5  Are  they  men  who,  on  the  Sabbath  of  God,  repair 
with  their  wives  and  families  to  His  holy  worship  I  Alas ! 
no.  These  heroic  persecutors,  who  hunt  and  punish  a  set 
of  disarmed  men,  are,  in  point  of  fact,  not  only  a  disgrace 
to  that  religion  in  whose  name  they  are  persecutors,  and  on 
whose  merciful  precepts  they  trample,  but  to  all  religion, 
in  whatever  light  true  religion  is  contemplated.  Yicious, 
ignorant,  profligate,  licentious,  but  cunning,  cruel,  bigoted, 
and  selfish,  they  make  the  spirit  of  oppressive  laws,  and 
the  miserable  state  of  the  country,  the  harvest  of  thei? 


'372  WILLY  REILLY. 

gain.     Look  more  closely  at  the  picture,  gentlemen  of  the 
jury,  and  make,  as  I  am  sure  you  will,  the  dismal  and 
terrible  circumstances  which  I  will  lay  before  you  your 
own.     Imagine  for  a  moment  that  those  who  are  now,  or 
at  least  have  been  the  objects  of  hot  and  blood-scenting 
persecution,   had,   by  some  political   revolution,   got    the 
power  of  the  State  and  of  the  laws  into  their  own  hands ; 
suppose,  for  it  is  easily  supposed,  that  they  had  stripped 
you  of  your  property,  deprived  you  of  your  civil  rights, 
disarmed  you  of  the  means  of  self-defence,  persecuted  your- 
selves and  proscribed  your  religion,  or,  vice  versa,  proscribed 
yourselves  and  persecuted  your  religion,  or,  to  come  at  once 
to  the  truth,  proscribed  and  persecuted  both ;  suppose  your 
churches  shut  up,  your  pious  clergy  banished,  and  that, 
when  on  the  bed  of  sickness  or  of  death,  some  of  your 
family,  hearing  your  cries  for  the  consolations  of  religion, 
ventured   out,  under  the  clouds  of  the  night,  pale  with 
sorrow,  and  trembling  with  apprehension,  to  steal  for  you, 
at  the  risk  of  life,  that  comfort  which  none  but  a  minister 
of  God  can  effectually  bestow  upon   the   parting  spirit; 
suppose  this,  and  suppose  that  your  house  is  instantly  sur- 
rounded by  some  cruel  but  plausible  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft 
or  some  drunken  and  ruffianly  Captain  Smellpriest,  who, 
surrounded  and  supported  by  armed  miscreants,  not  only 
breaks  open  that  house,  but  violates  the  awful  sanctity  of 
the  deathbed  itself,  drags  out  the  minister  of  Christ  from 
his  work  of  mercy,  and  leaves  him  a  bloody  corpse  at  your 
threshold.     I  say,  change  places,  gentlemen  of  the  jury, 
and   suppose    in    your  own  imaginations   that   all   those 
monstrous  persecutions,  all  those  murderous  and  flagitious 
outrages  had  been  inflicted  upon  yourselves,  with  others  of 
an  equally  nefarious  character;  suppose  all  this,  and  you 
may  easily  do  so,  for  you  have  seen  it  all  perpetrated  in 
the  name  of  God  and  the  law,  or,  to  say  the  truth,  in  the 
hideous  union  of  mammon  and  murder;  suppose  all  this, 
and  you  will  feel  what  such  men  as  he  who  stands  in  that 
dock  deserves  from  humanity   and  natural  justice;  for, 
alas !  I  cannot  say,  from  the  laws  of  his  country,  under  the 
protection  of  which,  and  in  the  name  of  which,  he  and 
those  who  resemble  him  have  deluged  that  country  with 
innocent  blood,  laid  waste  the  cabin  of  the  widow  and  the 


WILLY  REILLY.  373 

orphan,  and  carried  death  and  desolation  wherever  they 
went.  But,  gentlemen,  I  shall  stop  here,  as  I  do  not  wish 
to  inSict  unnecessary  pain  upon  you,  even  by  this  mitigated 
view  of  atrocities  which  have  taken  place  before  your  own 
eyes ;  yet  I  cannot  close  this  portion  of  my  address  without 
referring  to  so  large  a  number  of  our  fellow-Protestants 
with  pride,  as  I  am  sure  their  Roman  Catholic  friends  do 
with  gratitude.  Who  were  those  who,  among  the  Pro- 
testant party,  threw  the  shield  of  their  name  and  influence 
over  their  Catholic  neighbours  and  friends'?  Who,  need  I 
ask]  The  pious,  the  humane,  the  charitable,  the  liberal, 
the  benevolent,  and  the  enlightened.  Those  were  they 
who,  overlooking  the  mere  theological  distinctions  of  parti- 
cular doctrines,  united  in  the  great  and  universal  creed  of 
charity,  held  by  them  as  a  common  principle  on  which  they 
might  meet  and  understand  and  love  each  other.  And 
indeed,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  there  cannot  be  a  greater 
proof  of  the  oppressive  spirit  which  animates  this  penal  and 
inhuman  code  than  the  fact,  that  so  many  of  those,  for 
whose  benefit  it  was  enacted,  resisted  its  influence,  on 
behalf  of  their  Catholic  fellow-subjects,  as  far  as  they 
could,  and  left  nothing  undone  to  support  the  laws  of 
humanity  against  those  of  injustice  and  oppression.  When 
the  persecuted  Catholic  could  not  invest  his  capital  in  the 
purchase  of  property,  the  generous  Protestant  came  forward, 
purchased  the  property  in  his  own  name,  became  the  bona 
fide  proprietor,  and  then  transferred  its  use  and  advantages 
to  his  Catholic  friend.  And  again,  under  what  roof  did 
the  hunted  Catholic  priest  first  take  refuge  from  those 
bioodhounds  of  persecution  1  In  most  cases  under  that  of 
his  charitable  and  Christian  brother,  the  Protestant  clergy- 
man. Gentlemen,  could  there  be  a  bitterer  libel  upon  the 
penal  laws  than  the  notorious  facts  which  I  have  the 
honour  of  stating  to  you  % 

"  The  facts  which  have  placed  the  prisoner  at  the  bar 
before  you  are  these,  and  in  detailing  them  I  feel  myself 
placed  in  circumstances  of  great  difficulty,  and  also  of 
peculiar  delicacy.  The  discharge,  however,  of  a  public 
duty,  which  devolves  upon  me  as  leading  law  officer  of  the 
Oown,  forces  me  into  a  course  which  I  cannot  avoid, 
unless  I  should  shrink  from  promoting  and  accomplishing 


3T4  WILLY  REILLY. 

the  ends  of  public  justice.  In  my  position,  and  in  the 
discharge  of  my  solemn  duties  here  to-day,  I  can  recognise 
no  man's  rank,  no  man's  wealth,  nor  the  prestige  of  any 
man's  name.  So  long  as  he  stands  at  that  bar,  charged 
with  great  and  heinous  crimes,  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  strip 
him  of  all  the  advantages  of  his  birth  and  rank,  and 
consider  him  simply  a  mere  subject  of  the  realm. 

"  In  order  to  show  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  the  animus 
under  which  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  acted,  in  the  case 
before  us,  I  must  go  back  a  little — a  period  of  some  months. 
At  that  time,  a  highly  respectable  gentleman  of  an  ancient 
and  thonoured  family  in  this  country,  was  one  evening  on 
his  way  home  from  this  town,  attended,  as  usual,  by  his 
servant.  At  a  lonely  place  on  a  remote  and  antiquated 
road,  which  they  took  as  a  shorter  way,  it  so  happened, 
that  in  consequence  of  a  sudden  mist  peculiar  to  those  wild 
moors,  they  lost  their  path,  and  found  themselves  in 
circumstances  of  danger  and  distress.  The  servant,  how- 
ever, whistled,  and  his  whistle  was  answered ;  a  party  of 
men,  of  freebooters,  of  robbers,  headed  by  a  person  called 
the  Red  Rapparee,  who  has  been  convicted  at  these  Assizes, 
and  who  has  been  the  scourge  of  the  country  for  years, 
came  up  to  them,  and  as  the  Rapparee  had  borne  this 
respectable  gentleman  a  deadly  and  implacable  enmity  for 
some  time  past,  he  was  about  to  murder  both  master  and 
man,  and  actually  had  his  musket  levelled  at  him,  as  others 
of  his  gang  had  at%his  aged  servant,  when  a  person,  a  gen- 
tleman named  Reilly — [here  there  was  a  loud  cheer 
throughout  the  court,  which,  however,  was  soon  repressed,' 
and  the  Attorney- General  proceeded] — this  person  started 
out  from  an  old  ruin,  met  the  robber  face  to  face,  and,  in 
short,  not  only  saved  the  lives  of  the  gentleman  and  his 
servant,  but  conducted  them  safely  home.  This  act  of  courage 
and  humanity,  by  a  Roman  Catholic  to  a  Protestant,  had 
such  an  effect  upon  the  old  gentleman's  daughter,  a  lady 
whose  name  has  gone  far  and  wide  for  her  many  virtues 
and  wonderful  beauty,  that  an  attachment  was  formed 
between  the  young  gentleman  and  her.  The  prisoner  at 
the  bar,  gentlemen,  was  a  suitor  for  her  hand ;  but  as  the 
young  and  amiable  lady  was  acquainted  with  his  character 
as  a  priest-hunter  and  persecutor,   she,   though   herself  a 


WILLY   REILLY.  375 

Protestant,  could  look  upon  hiin  only  with  abhorrence.. 
At  all  events,  after  the  rescue  of  her  father's  life,  and  her 
acquaintance  with  Mr.  Reilly,  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  was 
rejected  with  disdain,  as  he  would  have  been,  it  seems,  if 
Reilly  never  had  existed.  Now,  gentlemen  of  the  jury, 
observe  that  Reilly  was  a  Catholic,  which  was  bad  enough 
in  the  eyes  of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  ;  but  he  was  more,  he 
was  a  rival,  and  were  it  not  for  the  state  of  the  law,  would, 
it  appears,  for  there  is  n6  doubt  of  it  now,  have  been  a 
successful  one.  From  henceforth,  the  prisoner  at  the  bar 
marked  Mr.  Reilly  for  vengeance,  for  destruction,  for 
death.  At  this  time  he  was  in  the  full  exercise  of  irrespon- 
sible authority ;  he  could  burn,  hang,  shoot,  without  being 
called  to  account ;  and  as  it  will  appear  before  you,  gentle- 
men, this  consciousness  of  impunity  stimulated  him  to  the 
perpetration  of  such  outrages,  as,  in  civil  life,  and  in  a 
country  free  from  civil  war,  are  unparalleled  in  the  annals 
of  crime  and  cruelty. 

"  But,  gentlemen,  what  did  this  man  do  1  this  man,  so 
anxious  to  preserve  the  peace  of  the  country ;  this  man,  the 
terror  of  the  surrounding  districts  ;  what  did  he  do,  I  ask  % 
Why,  he  took  the  most  notorious  robber  of  his  day,  the 
fierce  and  guilty  Rapparee — he  took  him  into  his  councils, 
in  order  that  he  might  enable  him  to  trace  the  object  of  his 
vengeance,  Reilly,  in  the  first  place,  and  to  lead  him  to  the 
hiding-places  of  such  unfortunate  Catholic  priests  as  had 
taken  refuge  in  the  caves  and  fastnesses  of  the  mountains. 
Instead  of  punishing  this  notorious  malefactor,  he  took  him 
into  his  own  house,  made  him,  as  he  was  proud  to  call 
them,  one  of  his  priest-hounds,  and  induced  him  to  believe 
that  he  had  procured  him  a  pardon  from  Government. 
Reilly's  name  he  had,  by  his  foul  misrepresentations,  got 
into  the  Hue-and-Cry}  and  subsequently  had  him  gazetted 
as  an  outlaw ;  and  all  this  upon  his  own  irresponsible 
authority.  I  mention  nothing,  gentlemen,  in  connexion 
with  this  trial  which  we  are  not  in  a  capacity  to- prove. 

"  Having  forced  Reilly  into  a  variety  of  disguises,  and 
hunted  him  like  a  mad  dog,  through  the  country  ;  haviug 
searched  every  lurking-place  in  which  he  thought  he  might 
find  him,  he  at  length  resolved  on  the  only  course  of 
vengeance  he  could  pursue     He  surrounded  his  habitation, 


376  WILLY   REILLY. 

and,  after  searching  for  Reilly  himself,  he  openly  robbed 
him  of  all  that  was  valuable  of  that  gentleman's  furniture, 
then  set  fire  to  the  house,  and  in  the  clouds  of  the  night 
reduced  that  and  every  out-office  he  had  to  ashes — a 
capital  felony.  It  so  happens,  however,  that  the  house 
and  offices  were,  in  point  of  fact,  not  the  property  of  Reilly 
at  all,  but  of  a  most  respectable  Protestant  gentleman  and 
magistrate,  Mr.  Hastings,  with  whose  admirable  character 
I  have  no  doubt  you  are  all  •  acquainted ;  and  all  that 
remains  for  me  to  say  is,  that  he  is  the  prosecutor  in  this 
case. 

"  And  now,  gentlemen,  we  expect  a  calm,  deliberate,  and 
unbiassed  verdict  from  you.  Look  upon  the  prisoner  at  the 
bar  as  an  innocent  man  until  you  can,  with  a  clear  con- 
science, find  him  guilty  of  the  charges  which  we  are  in  a 
condition  to  prove  against  him ;  but  if  there  be  any  doubt 
upon  your  minds,  I  hope  you  will  give  him  the  benefit 
of  it." 

Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  in  fact,  had  no  defence,  and 
could  procure  no  witnesses  to  counteract  the  irresistible 
body  of  evidence  that  was  produced  against  him.  Not- 
withstanding all  this,  his  friends  calculated  upon  the  preju- 
dices of  a  Protestant  jury.  His  leading  counsel  made  as 
able  a  speech  in  his  defence  as  could  be  made  under  the 
circumstances.  It  consisted,  however,  of  vague  genera- 
lities, and  dwelt  upon  the  state  of  the  country  and  the 
necessity  that  existed  for  men  of  great  spirit  and  Protestant 
feeling  to  come  out  boldly,  and,  by  courage  and  energy, 
carry  the  laws  that  had  passed  for  the  suppression  of 
Popery  into  active  and  wholesome  operation.  "Those 
laws  were  passed  by  the  wisest  and  ablest  assembly  of 
legislators  in  the  world,  and  to  what  purpose  could  legis- 
lative enactments  for  the  preservation  of  Protestant  interests 
be  passed,  if  men  of  true  faith  and  loyalty  could  not  be 
found  to  carry  them  into  effect  1  There  were  the  laws ;  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar  did  not  make  those  laws,  and  if  he 
was  invested  with  authority  to  carry  them  into  operation, 
what  did  he  do  but  discharge  a  wholesome  and  important 
duty  %  The  country  was  admitted,  on  all  sides,  to  be  in  a 
disturbed  state;  Popery  was   attempting  for   years   most 


WILLY  REILLY.  377 

insidiously  to  undermine  the  Protestant  Church,  and  to  sap 
the  foundation  of  all  Protestant  interests;  and  if,  by  a 
pardonable  excess  of  zeal,  of  zeal  in  the  right  direction,  and 
unconscious  lapse  in  the  discharge  of  what  he  would  call, 
those  noble  but  fearful  duties  had  occurred,  was  it  for  those 
who  had  a  sense  of  true  liberty,  and  a  manly  detestation  of 
Romish  intrigue  at  heart,  to  visit  that  upon  the  head  of  a 
true  and  loyal  man  as  a  crime  1  Forbid  it,  the  spirit  of  the 
British  constitution — forbid  it,  heaven — -forbid  it,  Protes- 
tantism.    No,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  etc.,  etc. 

We  need  not  go  further,  because  we  have  condensed  in 
the  few  sentences  given  the  gist  of  all  he  said. 

When  the  case  was  closed,  the  jury  retired  to  their  room, 
and  as  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's  fate  depends  upon  their 
verdict,  we  will  be  kind  enough  to  avail  ourselves  of  the 
open  sesame  of  our  poor  imagination  to  introduce  our  readers 
invisibly  into  the  jury-room. 

"  Now,"  said  the  foreman,  "  what's  to  be  done  ?  Are  we 
to  sacrifice  a  Protestant  champion  to  Popery]" 

"  To  Popery !  To  the  deuce,"  replied  another ;  "  it's  not 
Popery  that  is  prosecuting  him.  Put  down  Popery  by 
argument,  by  fair  argument,  but  don't  murder  those  that 
profess  it  in  cold  blood.  As  the  Attorney-G-aneral  said,  let 
us  make  it  our  own  case,  and  if  the  Papishes  treated  us  as 
we  have  treated  them,  what  would  we  say?  By  jingo,  I'd 
hang  that  fellow.  He's  a  Protestant  champion,  they  say ; 
but  I  say  he's  a  Protestant  bloodhound,  and  a  cowardly 
rascal  to  boot." 

"How  is  he  a  cowardly  rascal,  Bob?  hasn't  he  proved 
himself  a  brave  man  against  the  Papishes  1  eh  ! " 

"  A  brave  man !  deuce  thank  him  for  being  a  brave  man 
against  poor  devils  that  are  allowed  nothing  stouter  than  a 
horse-rod  to  defend  themselves  with — when  he  has  a  party 
of  well-armed  bloodhounds  at  his  back.  He's  the  worst 
landlord  in  Ireland,  and,  above  all  thing3,  he's  a  tyrant  to 
his  Protestant  tenants,  this  champion  of  Protestantism. 
Ay,  and  fierce  as  he  is  against  Popery,  there's  not  a 
Papish  tenant  on  his  estate  that  he's  not  like  a  father 
to." 

"And  how  the  deuce  do  you  know  that?" 

:t  Because  I  was  head  bailiff  to  him  for  ten  years." 


378  WILLY  REILLY. 

"Bub  doesn't  all  the  world  know  that  he  hates  the 
Papists,  and  would  have  them  massacred  if  he  could?" 

"And  so  he  does — and  so  he  would;  but  it's  all  his 
cowardice,  because  he's  afraid  that  if  he  was  harsh  to  his 
Popish  tenants,  some  of  them  might  shoot  him  from  behind 
a  hedge  some  fine  night,  and  give  him  a  leaden  bullet  for 
his  supper." 

"I  know  he's  a  coward,"  observed  another,  "because  he 
allowed  himself  to  be  horsewhipped  by  Major  Bingham,  and 
didn't  call  him  out  for  it." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,"  said  another,  "  it  was  made  up  by  their 
friends ;  but  what's  to  be  done  !  All  the  evidence  is  against 
him,  and  we  are  on  our  oaths  to  find  a  verdict  according  to 
the  evidence." 

"Evidence  be  hanged,"  said  another;  "I'll  sit  here  till 
doom's-day,  before  I  find  him  guilty.  Are  we,  that  are  all 
loyal  Protestants,  to  bring  out  a  var juice  to  please  the 
Papishes  1  Oh,  no,  faith ;  but  here's  the  thing,  gentlemen  ; 
mark  me  ;  here  now,  I  take  off  my  shoes,  and  I'll  ait  them 
before  I  find  him  guilty;"  and,  as  he  spoke,  he  deliberately 
slipped  off  his  shoes,  and  placed  them  on  the  table,  ready 
for  his  tough  and  loyal  repast. 

"By  Gog,"  said  another,  "I'll  hang  him,  in  spite  of  your 
teeth;  and,  afther  aiten  your  brogues,  you  may  go  bare- 
footed if  you  like.  I  have  brogues  to  ait  as  well  as  you, 
and  one  of  mine  is  as  big  as  two  of  yours." 

This  was  followed  by  a  chorus  of  laughter,  after  which 
they  began  to  consider  the  case  before  them,  like  admirable 
and  well-reasoning  jurors,  as  they  were.  Two  hours  passed 
in  wrangling,  and  talking,  and  recriminating,  when,  at  last, 
one  of  them,  striking  the  table,  exclaimed,  with  an  oath : 

"All  Europe  won't  save  the  villain.  Didn't  he  seduce- 
my  sister's  daughter,  and  then  throw  her  and  her  child 
back,  with  shame  and  disgrace,  on  the  family,  without 
support  V 

"  Look  at  that,"  said  the  owner  of  the  shoe,  holding  it  up 
triumphantly :  "  that's  my  supper  to-night,  and  my  argument 
in  his  defence.  I  say,  our  Protestant  champion  musn't 
hang,  at  least  until  I  starve  first." 

The  other,  who  sat  opposite  to  him,  put  his  hand  across 
the  table,  and  snatching  the  shoe,  struck  its  owner  between 


WILLY  EEILLY.  37.& 

the  two  eyes  with  it,  and  knocked  him  back  on  the  floor. 
A  scene  of  uproar  took  place,  which  lasted  for  some 
minutes,  but,  at  length,  by  the  influence  of  the  foreman, 
matters  were  brought  to  a  somewhat  amicable  issue.  In 
this  way  they  spent  the  time  for  a  few  hours  more,  when 
one  of  the  usual  messengers  came  to  know  if  they  had 
agreed;  but  he  was  instantly  dismissed  to  a  very  warm 
settlement,  with  the  assurance  that  they  had  not. 

"Come,"  said  one  of  them,  pulling  out  a  pack  of  cards, 
"let  us  amuse  ourselves,  at  any  rate.  Who's  for  a  hand  at 
the  Spoil  Five^" 

The  cards  were  looked  upon  as  a  god-send,  and,  in  a  few 
moments,  one-half  the  jury  were  busily  engaged  at  that 
interesting  game.  The  other  portion  of  them  amused 
themselves,  in  the  meantime,  as  well  as  they  could. 

"  Tom,"  said  one  of  them,  "  were  you  ever  on  a  special 
jury  in  a  Revenue  case  f  * 

"No,"  replied  Tom,  "never.     Is  there  much  fun?" 

"  The  devil's  own  fuu  ;  because  if  we  find  for  the  de- 
fendant, he's  sure  to  give  us  a  splendid  feed.  But  do  you 
know  how  we  manage  when  we  find  that  we  can't  agree  V 

"No.     How  is  it V* 

"  Why,  you  see,  when  the  case  is  too  clear  against  him, 
and  that  to  find  for  him  would  be  too  barefaced,  we  get 
every  man  to  mark  down  on  a  slip  of  paper  the  least 
amount  of  damages  he  is  disposed  to  give  against  him  ; 
when  they're  all  down,  we  tot  them  up,  and  divide  by 
twelve "  * 

"Silence,"  said  another,  "till  we  hear  John  Dickson's 
song." 

The  said  John  Dickson  was  at  the  time  indulging  them 
with  a  comic  song,  which  was  encored,  with  roars  of 
laughter. 

"  Hallo !"  shouted  one  of  those  at  the  cards,  "  here's  Jack 
Brereton  has  prigged  the  ace  of  hearts." 

"  Oh,  gentlemen,"  said  Jack,  who  was  a  greater  knave  afe 
the  cards  than  any  in  the  pack,  *  upon  my  honour,  gentle- 
men, you  wrong  me." 

*  By  no  means  an  uncommon  proceeding  in  Revenue  cases,  eveix 
at  the  present  day. 


380  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  There — he  has  dropped  it,"  said  another,  "  look  under 
the  table." 

The  search  was  made,  and  up  was  lugged  the  redoubtable 
ace  of  hearts,  from  under  one  of  Jack's  feet,  who  had  hoped, 
by  covering  it,  to  escape  detection.  Detected,  however,  he 
was,  and,  as  they  all  knew  him  well,  the  laughter  was  loud 
accordingly,  and  none  of  them  laughed  louder  than  Jack 
himself. 

"Jack,"  said  another  of  them,  "let  us  have  a  touch  of 
the  legerdemain." 

"  Gentlemen,  attention,"  said  Jack.  "  Will  any  of  you 
lend  me  a  halfpenny  V' 

This  was  immediately  supplied  to  him,  and  the  first 
thing  he  did  was  to  stick  it  on  his  forehead — although 
there  had  been  brass  enough  there  before — to  which  it 
appeared  to  have  been  glued ;  after  a  space,  he  took  it  off, 
and  placed  it  in  the  palm  of  his  right  hand,  which  he 
closed,  and  then,  extending  6oth  his  hands,  shut,  asked 
those  about  him  in  which  hand  it  was.  Of  course,  they  all 
said  in  the  right ;  but,  upon  Jack's  opening  the  said  hand, 
there  was  no  halfpenny  there. 

In  this  way  they  discussed  a  case  of  life  or  death,  until 
another  knock  came,  which  "knock"  received  the  same 
answer  as  before. 

"  Faith,"  said  a  powerful-looking  farmer,  from  near  the 
town  of  Boyle — the  very  picture  of  health,  "if  they  don't 
soon  let  us  out  I'll  get  sick.  It's  I  that  always  does  the 
sickness  for  the  jury,  when  we're  kept  in  too  long." 

"Why  then,  Billy  Bradley,"  asked  one  of  them,  "how 
could  you,  of  all  men  living,  sham  sickness  on  a  doctor  ?" 

"Because,"  said  Billy,  with  a  grin,  "I'm  beginning  to 
feel  a  divarsion  of  blood  to  the  head,  for  want,  of  a  beef- 
steak and  a  pot  o'  porther.  My  father  and  grandfather 
both  died  of  a  divarsion  of  blood  to  the  head." 

"I  rather  think,"  observed  another,  "that  they  died  by 
taking  their  divarsion  at  the  beefsteak  and  the  pot  of  porter." 

"  No  matther,"  said  Billy,  "  they  died  at  all  events,  and 
so  will  we  all,  plaise  God." 

"  Come,"  said  one  of  them,  "  there  is  Jack  Brereton  and 
his  cane— let  us  come  to  business.  What  do  you  say,  Jack, 
as  to  the  prisoner?" 


WILLY  REILLY.  381 

Jack,  at  that  time,  had  the  aforesaid  cane  between  his 
legs,  over  which  he  was  bent  like  a  bow,  with  the  head  of 
it  in  his  mouth. 

"  Are  you  all  agreed  1 "  asked  Jack. 

"  Ail  for  a  verdict  of  guilty,  with  the  exception  of  this 
fellow  and  his  shoes." 

Jack  Brereton  was  a  handsome  old  fellow,  with  a  red 
face,  and  a  pair  of  watery  eyes ;  he  was  a  little  lame,  and 
hirpled  as  he  walked,  in  consequence  of  a  hip  complaint, 
which  he  got  by  a  fall  from  a  jaunting-car;  but  he  was 
now  steady  enough,  except  the  grog. 

"Jack,  what  do  you  say?"  asked  the  foreman;  "it's 
time  to  do  something." 

"  Why,"  replied  Jack,  "  the  scoundrel  engaged  me  to  put 
down  a  pump  for  him,  and  I  did  it  in  such  a  manner  as 
was  a  credit  to  bis  establishment.  To  be  sure,  he  wanted 
the  water  to  come  whenever  it  was  asked ;  but  I  told  him 
that  that  wasn't  my  system ;  that  I  didn't  want  to  make  a 
good  thing  too  cheap ;  but  that  the  water  would  come  in 
genteel  time — that  is  to  say,  whenever  they  didn't  want  it ; 
and  faith  the  water  bore  me  out."  And  here  Jack  laughed 
heartily.  "But  no  matter,"  proceeded  Jack,  "  he's  only  a 
bujeen  ;  sure  it  was  his  mother  nursed  me.  Where's  that 
fellow  that's  going  to  eat  his  shoes  ?  Here,  Ned  Wilson, 
you  flaming  Protestant,  I  have  neither  been  a  grand  juror 
nor  a  petty  juror  of  the  county  of  Sligo  for  nothing. 
"Where  are  you1?  Take  my  cane,  place  it  between  your 
knees  as  you  saw  me  do,  put  your  mouth  down  to  the  head 
of  it,  suck  up  with  all  your  strength,  and  you'll  find  that 
God  will  give  you  sense  afterwards." 

Wilson,  who  had  taken  such  a  fancy  for  eating  his  shoes, 
in  order  to  show  his  loyalty,  was  what  is  called  a  hard-goer, 
and,  besides,  a  great  friend  of  Jack's.  At  all  events,  he 
followed  his  advice — put  the  head  of  the  huge  cane  into  his 
mouth,  and  drew  up  accordingly.  The  cane,  in  fact,  was 
hollow  all  through,  and  contained  about  three  half-pints  of 
strong  whiskey.  There  was  some  wrangling  with  the  man 
for  a  little  time  after  this  j  but  at  length  he  approached 
Jack  and  handing  him  the  empty  cane,  said  : 

"  What's  your  opinion,  Jack  V 

"Why,  we  must  hang  him,"  replied  Jack.     "He   de- 


3S2  WILLY   REILLY. 

frauded  me  in  the  pump ;  and  I  ask  you,  did  you  ever  put 
your  nose  to  a  better  pump  than  that?"* 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  Jack,  we're  agreed — he  swings^" 

At  this  moment  an  officer  came  to  ask  the  same  question, 
when,  in  reply,  the  twelve  jurymen  came  out,  and,  amidst 
the  most  profound  silence,  the  foreman  handed  down  the 
issue  paper  to  the  Clerk  of  the  Crown. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  that  officer,  after  having  cast  his  eye 
over  it,  "have  you  agreed  in  your  verdict  V 

"  We  have." 

"  Is  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  guilty,  or  not  guilty  V* 

"Guilty!" 

Let  us  pause  here  a  moment,  and  reflect  upon  the  pre- 
carious tenure  of  life,  as  it  is  frequently  affected  by  such 
scenes  as  the  above,  in  the  administration  of  justice.  Here 
was  a  criminal  of  the  deepest  dye,  shivering  in  the  dock 
with  the  natural  apprehension  of  his  fate,  but  supported, 
notwithstanding,  hy  the  delay  of  the  jury  in  coming  to  a 
verdict.  He  argued,  reasonably  enough,  that  in  conse- 
quence of  that  very  delay,  he  must  necessarily  have  friends 
among  them  who  would  hold  out  to  the  last.  The  state  of 
suspense,  however,  in  which  he  was  held  must  have  been, 
and  was,  dreadful.  His  lips  and  throat  became  parched  by 
excitement,  and  he  was  obliged  to  drink  three  or  four 
glasses  of  water.  Being  unable  to  stand,  he  was  accom- 
modated with  a  chair,  on  which,  while  he  sat,  the  perspira- 
tion flowed  from  his  pallid  face.  Yet,  with  the  exception 
of  his  own  clique,  there  was  scarcely  an  individual  present 
who  did  not  hope  that  this  trial  would  put  an  end  to  his 
career  of  blood.  After  all,  there  was  something  of  the 
retributive  justice  of  Providence  even  in  the  conduct  and 
feelings  of  the  jury ;  for,  in  point  of  fact,  it  was  more  on 
account  of  his  private  crimes,  and  private  infamy,  that 
they,  however  wrongly,  brought  in  their  verdict.  Here 
was  he,  encircled  by  their  knowledge  of  his  own  iniquities, 

*  We  have  been  taken  to  task  about  this  description  of  the  jury- 
room  j  but  we  believe,  and  have  good  reason  to  believe,  that  every 
circumstance  mentioned  in  it  is  a  fact.  Do  our  readers  remember 
the  history  of  Orr's  trial,  where  three-fourths  of  the  jurors  who  con- 
victed him  were  drunk — a  fact  to  which  they  themselves  confirmed 
upon  oath  afterwards  ? 


WILLY  REILLY.  283 

apart  from  his  public  acts;  and  there,  standing  in  that 
dock,  from  which  he  might  have  gone  out  free,  so  far  as 
regarded  his  political  exploits,  he  found,  although  he  did 
not  know  it,  the  black  weight  of  his  private  vices  fall  upon 
his  head  in  the  shape  of  the  verdict  just  delivered.  It 
would  be  impossible  to  describe  his  appearance  on  hearing 
it;  his  head  fell  down  upon  his  breast  listless,  helpless, 
and  with  a  character  of  despair  that  was  painful  to  con- 
template. 

When  the  verdict  was  handed  down,  the  judge  imme- 
diately put  on  the  black  cap ;  but  Whitecraft's  head  was 
resting  on  his  breast,  and  he  did  not  for  some  time  see  it. 
At  length,  stirred  into  something  like  life  by  the  accents 
of  the  judge,  he  raised  his  head  with  an  effort.  The  latter 
addressed  him  thus : 

"  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  you  have  been  convicted  this 
day  by  as  enlightened  a  jury  as  ever  sat  in  a  jury-box. 
You  must  be  aware  yourself,  by  the  length  of  time,  and 
consequently  the  deep  and  serious  investigation  which  they 
bestowed — and,  it  is  evident,  painfully  bestowed — upon 
your  unhappy  case,  that  your  conviction  is  the  deliberate 
result  of  their  conscientious  opinion.  It  is  obvious,  as  I 
said,  from  the  length  of  time  occupied  in  the  jury-room, 
that  the  evidence  in  your  case  was  sifted  closely,  and 
canvassed  with  the  ability  and  experience  of  able  and 
honest  men.  In  the  verdict  they  have  returned,  the  Court 
perfectly  concurs ;  and  it  now  only  remains  for  me  to  pass 
upon  you  that  awful  sentence  of  the  law  which  is  due  to 
your  cruel  life  and  flagitious  crimes.  Were  you  a  man 
without  education,  nurtured  in  ignorance,  and  the  slave  of 
its  debasing  consequences,  some  shade  of  compassion  might 
be  felt  for  you  on  that  account.  But  you  cannot  plead 
this;  you  cannot  plead  poverty,  or  that  necessity  which 
urges  many  a  political  adventurer  to  come  out  as  a  tyrant 
and  oppressor  upon  his  fellow  subjects,  under  the  shield  of 
the  law,  and  in  the  corrupt  expectation  of  reward  or  pro- 
motion. You  were  not  only  independent  in  your  own  cir- 
cumstances, but  you  possessed  great  wealth  ;  and  why  you 
should  shape  yourself  such  an  awful  course  of  crime  can 
only  be  attributed  to  a  heart  naturally  fond  of  persecution 
and  blood.     I  cannot,  any  more  than  the  learned  Attorney- 


384  WILLY  UE1LLY. 

General,  suffer  the  privileges  of  rank,  wealth,  or  position 
to  sway  me  from  the  firm  dictates  of  justice.  You 
imagined  that  the  law  would  connive  at  you — and  it  did  so 
too  long,  but  believe  me  the  sooner  or  later  it  will  abandon 
the  individual  that  has  been  provoking  it,  and,  like  a  tiger 
when  goaded  beyond  patience,  will  turn  and  tear  its  victim 
to  pieces.  It  remains  for  me  now  to  pronounce  the  awful 
sentence  of  the  law  upon  you ;  but  before  I  do  so,  let  me 
entreat  you  to  turn  your  heart  to  that  Being  who  will 
never  refuse  mercy  to  a  repentant  sinner;  and  I  press  this 
upon  you  the  more,  because  you  need  not  entertain  the 
slightest  expectation  of  finding  it  in  this  world.  la  order> 
therefore,  that  you  may  collect  and  compose  your  mind  for 
the  great  event  that  is  before  you,  I  will  allow  you  four 
days,  in  order  that  you  may  make  a  Christian  use  of  your 
time,  and  prepare  your  spirit  for  a  greater  tribunal  than 
this.  The  sentence  of  the  Court  is,  that,  on  the  fifth  day 
after  this,  you  be,  etc.,  etc.,  etc. ;  and  may  God  have  mercy 
on  your  soul ! " 

At  first  there  was  a  dead  silence  in  the  court,  and  a  por- 
tion of  the  audience  was  taken  completely  by  surprise  on 
hearing  both  the  verdict  and  the  sentence.  At  length  a 
deep,  condensed  murmur,  which  rose  by  degrees  into  a  yell 
of  execration,  burst  forth  from  his  friends,  whilst,  on  the 
other  hand,  a  peal  of  cheers  and  acclamations  rang  so 
loudly  through  the  court  that  they  completely  drowned  the 
indignant  vociferations  of  the  others.  In  the  meantime 
silence  was  restored,  and  it  was  found  that  the  convict  had 
been  removed  during  the  confusion  to  one  of  the  con- 
demned cells.  What  now  were  his  friends  to  do  ]  Was  it 
possible  to  take  any  steps  by  which  he  might  yet  be  saved 
from  such  a  disgraceful  death?  Pressed  as  they  were  for 
time,  they  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  only  chance 
existing  in  his  favour  was  for  a  deputation  of  as  many  of 
the  leading  Protestants  of  the  county,  as  could  be  prevailed 
upon  to  join  in  the  measure,  to  proceed  to  Dublin  without 
delay.  Immediately,  therefore,  after  the  trial,  a  meeting 
of  the  baronet's  friends  was  held  in  the  head  inn  of  Sligo,' 
where  the  matter  was  earnestly  discussed.  Whitecraft  had 
been  a  man  of  private  and  solitary  enjoyments — in  social 
and  domestic  life,  as  cold,  selfish,  inhospitable,  and  repul-' 


WILLY  EEILLY.  386 

sive,  as  he  was  cruel  and  unscrupulous  in  his  public 
career.  The  consequence  was,  that  he  had  few  personal 
friends  of  either  rank  or  influence,  and  if  the  matter  had 
rested  upon  his  own  personal  character  and  merits  alone, 
he  would  have  been  left,  without  an  effort,  to  the  fate 
which  had  that  day  been  pronounced  upon  him.  The  con- 
sideration of  the  matter,  however,  was  not  confined  to 
himself  as  an  individual,  but  to  the  Protestant  party  at 
large,  and  his  conviction  was  looked  upon  as  a  Popish 
triumph.  On  this  account  many  persons  of  rank  and 
influence,  who  would  not  otherwise  have  taken  any  interest 
in  his  fate,  came  forward  for  the  purpose,  if  possible,  of 
defeating  the  Popish  party — who,  by  the  way,  had  nothing 
whatsoever  to  do  in  promoting  his  conviction — and  of 
preventing  the  stigma  and  deep  disgrace  which  his  execution 
would  attach  to  their  own.  A  very  respectable  deputation 
was,  consequently,  formed,  and  in  the  course  of  the  next 
day  proceeded  to  Dublin,  to  urge  their  claims  in  his  favour 
with  the  Lord  Lieutenant.  This  nobleman,  though  ap- 
parently favourable  to  the  Catholic  people,  was  never- 
theless personally  and  secretly  a  bitter  enemy  to  them. 
The  State  policy  which  he  was  instructed  and  called  upon 
to  exercise  in  their  favour  differed  toto  ccelo  from  his  own 
impressions.  He  spoke  to  them,  however,  sweetly  and 
softly,  praised  them  for  their  forbearance,  and  made  large 
promises  in  their  favour,  whilst,  at  the  same  time,  he  en- 
tertained no  intention  of  complying  with  their  request. 

The  deputation,  on  arriving  at  the  Castle,  ascertained,  to 
their  mortification,  that  the  Viceroy  would  not  be  at  home 
until  the  following  day,  having  spent  the  last  week  with  a 
nobleman  in  the  neighbourhood;  they  were  consequently 
obliged  to  await  his  arrival.  After  his  return  they  were 
admitted  to  an  audience,  in  which  they  stated  their  object 
in  waiting  upon  him,  and  urged,  with  great  earnestness,  the 
necessity  of  arresting  the  fate  of  such  a  distinguished 
Protestant  as  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft ;  after  which,  they  en- 
tered into  a  long  statement  of  the  necessity  that  existed  for 
such  active  and  energetic  men  in  the  then  peculiar  and 
dangerous  state  of  the  country. 

To  all  this,  however,  he  replied  with  great  suavity,  as- 
suring them  that  no  man  felt  more  anxious  to  promote 

2b 


386  WILLY  REILLY. 

Protectant  interests  than  he  did,  and  added,  that  the  re- 
laxation of  the  laws  against  the  Catholics  was  not  so  much 
the  result  of  his  own  personal  policy  or  feeling,  as  the  con- 
sequence of  the  instructions  he  had  received  from  the 
English  Cabinet.  He  would  be  very  glad  to  comply  with 
the  wishes  of  the  deputation  if  he  could,  but,  at  present,  it 
was  impossible.  This  man's  conduct  was  indefensible ;  for, 
not  content  in  carrying  out  the  laws  against  the  Catholics 
with  unnecessary  rigour,  he  committed  a  monstrous  outrage 
against  a  French  subject  of  distinction,  in  consequence  of 
which  the  French  Court,  through  their  Ambassador  in 
London,  insisted  upon  his  punishment. 

"Very  well,  my  lord,"  replied  the  spokesman  of  the 
deputation,  "I  beg  to  assure  you,  that  if  a  hair  of  this 
man's  head  is  injured,  there  will  be  a  massacre  of  the 
Popish  population  before  two  months ;  and  I  beg  also  to 
let  you  know,  for  the  satisfaction  of  the  English  Cabinet, 
that  they  may  embroil  themselves  with  France,  or  get  into 
whatever  political  embarrassment  they  please,  but  an  Irish 
Protestant  will  never  hoist  a  musket,  or  draw  a  sword,  in 
their  defence.  Gentlemen,  let  us  bid  his  Excellency  a  good 
morning." 

This  was  startling  language,  as  the  effect  proved,  for  it 
startled  the  Viceroy  into  a  compliance  with  their  wishes, 
and  they  went  home  post-haste,  in  order  that  the  pardon 
might  arrive  in  time. 


WILLY  REILLY.  387 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

RUMOUR  OF  COOLEEN  BAWN'S  TREACHERY— HOW  IT  APPEARS 
—REILLY  STANDS  HIS  TRIAL— CONCLUSION.      ■ 

iT/^LFE,  they  say,  is  a  life  of  trials,  and  so  may  it  be 
*m£j  said  of  this  tale — at  least  of  the  conclusion  of  it; 
W*  '  for  we  feel  that  it  devolves  upon  us  once  more  to 
solicit  the  presence  of  our  readers  to  the  same  prison  in 
which  the  Red  Rapparee  and  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  re- 
ceived their  sentence  of  doom. 

As  it  is  impossible  to  close  the  mouth  or  to  silence  tho 
tongue  of  fame,  so  we  may  assure  our  readers,  as  we  have 
before,  that  the  history  of  the  loves  of  those  two  celebrated 
individuals,  to  wit,  Willy  Reilly  and  the  far-famed  Gooleen 
Bawn,  had  given  an  interest  to  the  coming  trial  such  as 
was  never  known  within  the  memory  of  man,  at  that 
period,  nor  perhaps  equalled  since.  The  Red  Rapparee, 
Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  and  all  the  other  celebrated  villains 
of  that  time,  have  nearly  perished  out  of  tradition  itself, 
whilst  those  of  our  hero  and  heroine  are  still  fresh  in  the 
feelings  of  the  Connaught  and  Northern  peasantry,  at 
whose  hearths,  during  the  winter  evenings,  the  rude  but 
fine  old  ballad  that  commemorated  that  love  is  still  sung 
with  sympathy,  and  sometimes,  as  we  can  testify,  with 
tears.  This  is  fame.  One  circumstance,  however,  which 
deepened  the  interest  felt  by  the  people,  told  powerfully 
against  the  consistency  of  the  Cooleen  Bawn^  which  was, 
that  she  had  resolved  to  come  forward  that  day  to  bear 
evidence  against  her  lover.  Such  was  the  general  im- 
pression received  from  her  father,  and  the  attorney 
Doldrum,  who  conducted  the  trial  against  Reilly,  although 
our  readers  are  well  aware  that  on  this  point,  they  spoke 
without  authority.  The  governor  of  the  prison,  on  going 
that  morning  to  conduct  him  to  the  bar,  said : 

"I  am  sorry  Mr.  Reilly,  to  be  the  bearer  of  bad  news; 
but  as  the  knowledge  of  it  may  be  serviceable  to  you  or 
your  lawyers,  I  think  I  ought  to  mention  it  to  you." 


388  WILLY  REILLY. 

"Pray,  what  is  itV  asked  Reilly. 

u  Why,  sir,  it  is  said  to  be  a  fact  that  the  Cooleen  Bawn 
has  proved  false  and  treacherous,  and  is  coming  this  day  to 
bear  her  testimony  against  you." 

Reilly  replied  with  a  smile  of  confidence,  which  the  dark- 
ness of  the  room  prevented  the  other  from  seeing,  "  Well, 
Mr.  O'Shaughnessy,  even  if  she^does,  it  cannot  be  helped  ; 
have  you  heard  what  the  nature  of  her  evidence  is  likely 
to  be?" 

"No;  it  seems  her  father  and  Doldrum  the  attorney 
asked  her,  and  she  would  not  tell  them ;  but  she  said  she 
had  made  her  mind  up,  to  attend  the  trial  and  see  justice 
done.  Don't  be  cast  down,  Mr.  Reilly,  though,  upon  my 
soul,  I  think  she  ought  to  have  stood  it  out  in  your  favour 
to  the  last." 

"  Come,"  said  Reilly,  "  I  am  ready ;  time  will  tell,  Mr. 
O'Shaughnessy,  and  a  short  time  too;  a  few  hours  now, 
and  all  will  know  the  result." 

"  I  hope  in  God,  it  may  be  in  your  favour,  Mr.  Reilly." 

"Thank  you,  O'Shaughnessy;  lead  on,  I  am  ready  to 
attend  you." 

The  gaol  was  crowded  even  to  suffocation ;  but  this  was 
not  all.  The  street  opposite  the  gaol  was  nearly  as  much 
crowded  as  the  gaol  itself;  a  moving,  a  crushing  mass  of 
thousands  having  been  collected'  to  abide  and  hear  the 
issue.  It  was  with'  great  difficulty,  and  not  without  the 
aid  of  a  strong  military  force,  that  a  way  could  be  cleared 
for  the  judge,  as  he  approached  the  prison.  The  crowd 
was  silent  and  passive,  but  in  consequence  of  the  report 
that  the  Cooleen  Bawn  was  to  appear  against  Reilly,  a 
profound  melancholy  and  an  expression  of  deep  sorrow 
seemed  to  brood  over  it.  Immediately  after  the  judge's 
carriage,  came  that  of  the  squire,  who  was  accompanied  by 
his  daughter,  Mrs.  Brown,  and  Mrs.  Hastings ;  for  Helen 
had  insisted  that  her  father  should  procure  their  attendance. 
A  private  room  in  the  prison  had,  by  previous  arrangement, 
been  prepared  for  them,  and  to  this  they  were  conducted 
by  a  back  way,  so  as  to  avoid  the  crushing  of  the  crovvcl. 
It  was  by  this  way,  also,  that  the  judge  and  lawyers 
entered  the  body  of  the  court-house,  without  passing 
through  the  congregated  mass. 


WILLY  REILLY.  389 

At  length  the  judge,  having  robed  himself,  took  his  seat 
on  the  bench,  and,  on  casting  his  eye  over  the  court-house, 
was  astonished  at  the  dense  multitude  that  stood  before 
him.  On  looking  at  the  galleries,  he  saw  that  they  were 
crowded  with  ladies  of  rank  and  fashion.  Everything 
having  been  now  ready,  the  lawyers,  each  with  his  brief 
before  him,  and  each  with  a  calm,  but  serious  and  medi- 
tative aspect,  the  Clerk  of  the  Crown  cried  out,  in  a  voice 
which  the  hum  of  the  crowd  rendered  necessarily  loud : 

"  Mr.  Gaoler,  put  William  Reilly  to  the  bar." 

At  that  moment  a  stir,  a  murmur,  especially  among  the 
ladies  in  the  gallery,  and  a  turning  of  faces  in  the  direction 
of4the  bar,  took  place  as  Reilly  came  forward,  and  stood 
erect  in  front  of  the  judge.  The  very  moment  he  made  his 
appearance,  all  eyes  were  fastened  on  him,  and  whatever  the 
prejudices  may  have  been  against  the  Cooleen  Bawn  for 
falling  in  love  with  a  Papist,  that  moment  of  his  appearance 
absolved  her  from  all — from  everything.  A  more  noble  or 
majestic  figure  never  stood  at  that  or  any  other  bar.  In 
the  very  prime  of  manhood,  scarcely  out  of  youth,  with  a 
figure  like  that  of  Antinous,  tall,  muscular,  yet  elegant, 
brown  hair  of  the  richest  shade,  a  lofty  forehead,  features  of 
the  most  manly  cast,  but  exquisitely  formed,  and  eyes, 
which,  but  for  the  mellow  softness  of  their  expression,  an 
eagle  might  have  envied  for  their  transparent  brilliancy. 
The  fame  of  his  love  for  the  Cooleen  Bawn  had  come  before 
him;  the  judge  surveyed  him  with  deep  interest,  so  did 
every  eye  that  could  catch  a  view  of  his  countenance ;  but, 
above  all,  were  those  in  the  gallery  riveted  upon  him  with 
a  degree  of  interest — and,  now  that  they  had  seen  him,  of 
sympathy — which  we  shall  not  attempt  to  describe.  Some 
of  them  were  so  deeply  affected  that  they  could  not 
suppress  their  tears,  which,  by  the  aid  of  their  handker- 
chiefs, they  endeavoured  to  conceal  as  well  as  they  could. 
Government,  in  this  case,  as  it  was  not  one  of  political 
interest,  did  not  prosecute.  A  powerful  bar  was  retained 
against  Eeilly,  but  an  equally  powerful  one  was  engaged 
for  him;  the  leading  lawyer  being,  as  we  have  stated, 
the  celebrated  advocate  Fox,  the  Curran  of  his  day. 

The  charge  against  him  consisted  of  only  two  counts — 
that  of  robbing  Squire  Folliard  of  family  jewels  of  immense 


390  WILLY  KEILLY. 

value,  and  that  of  running  away  with  his  daughter,  a  ward 
of  Chancery,  contrary  to  her  consent  and  inclination,  and 
to  the  laws  in  that  case  made  and  provided. 

The  first  witness  produced  was  the  sheriff — and,  indeed, 
to  state  the  truth,  a  very  reluctant  one  was  that  humane 
gentleman,   on  the  occasion.     Having   been   sworn,    the 
leading  counsel  proceeded : 
-    "  You  are  the  sheriff  of  this  county?" 

"lam." 

"  Are  you  aware  that  jewellery,  to  a  large  amount,  was 
stolen  recently  from  Mr.  Folliard  V- 

"  I  am  not." 

"  You  are  not  1  Now,  is  it  not  a  fact,  of  which  you  were 
an  eye-witness,  that  the  jewellery  in  question  was  found 
upon  the  person  of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  in  Mr.  Folliard's 
house  V 

"  I  must  confess  that  I  saw  him  about  to  be  searched, 
and  that  a  very  valuable  case  of  jewellery  was  found  upon 
his  person." 

"  Yes,  found  upon  his  person — a  very  valuable  case  of 
jewellery,  the  property  of  Mr.  Folliard,  found  upon  his 
person;  mark  that,  gentlemen  of  the  jury." 

"Pardon  me,"  said  the  sheriff,  "I  saw  jewellery  found 
upon  him ;  but  I  cannot  say  on  my  oath  whether  it  be- 
longed to  Mr.  Folliard  or  not;  all  I  can  say  is,  'that  Mr. 
Folliard  claimed  the  jewels  as  his." 

"  As  his — just  so.  Nobody  had  a  better  right  to  claim 
them  than  the  person  to  whom  they  belonged.  What  took 
place  on  the  occasion1?" 

"Why,  Mr.  Folliard,  as  I  said,  claimed  them,  and  Mr. 
Reilly  refused  to  give  them  up  to  him." 

"You  hear  that,  gentlemen — refused  to  surrender  him 
the  property  of  which  he  had  robbed  him,  even  in  his  own 
house." 

"  And  when  you  searched  the  prisoner  V 

"We  didn't  search  him — he  refused  to  submit  to  a 
search." 

"  Eef used  to  submit  to  a  search  !  No  wonder,  I  think ! 
But,  at  the  time  he  refused  to  submit  to  a  search,  had  he 
the  jewellery  upon  his  person  ?" 

"  He  had.* 


WILLY  REILLY.  391 

"  He  had  1  You  hear  that,  gentlemen — at  the  time  he  re- 
fused to  be  searched  he  had  the  jewellery  upon  his  person." 

The  sheriff  was  then  cross-examined  by  Fox,  to  the 
following  effect : 

"Mr.  Sheriff,  have  you  been  acquainted,  or  are  you 
acquainted  with  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  1 " 

"Yes;  I  have  known  him  for  about  three  years — almost 
ever  since  he  settled  in  this  county." 

"  What  is*  your  opinion  of  him  I" 

"  My  opinion  of  him  is  very  high." 

"Yes — your  opinion  of  him  is  very  high,"  with  a  signifi- 
cant glance  at  the  jury — "  I  believe  it  is,  and  I  believe  it 
ought  to  be.  Now,  upon  your  oath,  do  you  believe  that 
the  prisoner  at  the  bar  is  capable  of  the  theft  or  robbery 
imputed  to  him  ¥' 

"  I  do  not." 

"You  do  not?  What  did  he  say,  when  the  jewels  were 
found  upon  him  V 

"  He  refused  to  surrender  them  to  Mr.  Folliard  as  having 
no  legal  claim  upon  them,  and  refused,  at  first,  to  place 
them  in  any  hands  but  Miss  Folliard's  own ;  but,  on  under- 
standing that  she  was  not  in  a  state  to  receive  them  from 
him,  he  placed  them  in  mine." 

"Then  he  considered  that  they  were  Miss  Folliard's 
personal  property,  and  not  her  father's1?" 

"So  it  seemed  to  me,  from  what  he  said  at  the  time." 

"That  will  do,  sir,  you  may  go  down." 

"  Alexander  Folliard  !"  and  the  father  then  made  his 
appearance  on  the  table;  he  looked  about  him,  with  a 
restless  eye,  and  appeared  in  a  state  of  great  agitation ;  but 
it  was  the  agitation  of  an  enraged  and  revengeful  man. 
He  turned  his  eyes  upon  Eeilly,  and  exclaimed  with  bitter- 
ness :  "  There  you  are,  Willy  Eeilly,  who  have  stained  the 
reputation  of  my  child,  and  disgraced  her  family." 

"  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  his  lawyer,  "  you  have  had  in  your 
possession  very  valuable  family  jewels." 

"I  had." 

"Whose  property  were  they1?" 

"  Why,  mine,  I  should  think." 

"  Could  you  identify  them  P 

"  Certainly,  I  could." 


392  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  Are  these  the  jewels  in  question  V* 

The  old  man  put  on  his  spectacles,  and  examined  them 
closely. 

"  They  are ;  I  know  every  one  of  them." 

"  They  were  stolen  from  you?" 

"  They  were." 

11  On  whose  person,  after  having  been  stolen,  were  they 
found?" 

"On  the  person  of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar."  • 

"  You  swear  that." 

"  I  do ;  because  I  saw  him  take  them  out  of  his  pocket 
in  my  own  house,  after  he  had  been  made  prisoner  and 
detected." 

"  Then  they  are  your  property  %n 

"  Certainly — I  consider  them  my  property  ;  who  else's 
property  could  they  be." 

"  Pray,  is  not  your  daughter  a  minor  V 

"  She  is." 

"  And  a  ward  in  the  Court  of  Chancery  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"That  will  do,  sir." 

The  Squire  was  then  about  to  leave  the  table,  when  Mr. 
Fox  addressed  him : 

"Not  yet,  Mr.  Folliard,  if  you  please;  you  swear  the 
jewels  are  yours  V 

"  I  do ;  to  whom  else  should  they  belong  %" 

"  Are  you  of  opinion  that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  robbed 
you  of  them  V 

"  I  found  them  in  his  possession.'* 

"And  you  now  identify  them  as  the  same  jewels  which 
you  found  in  his  possession  V 

"  Hang  it,  haven't  I  said  so  before  T 

"Pray,  Mr.  Folliard,  keep  your  temper,  if  you  please, 
and  answer  me  civilly  and  as  a  gentleman.  Suffer  me  to  ask 
you  are  there  any  other  family  jewels  in  your  possession  V* 

"  Yes,  the  Folliard  jewels." 

"The  Folliard  jewels!  And  how  t do  they  differ  in 
denomination  from  those  found  upon  the  prisoner  V 

"Those  found  upon  the  prisoner  are  called  the  Bingham 
jewels,  from  the  fact  that  my  wife,  who  was  a  Bingham, 
having  brought  them  into  our  family." 


WILLY  REILLY.  393 

"And  pray,  did  not  your  wife  always  consider  those 
jewels  as  her  own  private  property?" 

"  Why,  I  believe  she  did." 

"  And  did  she  not,  at  her  death-bed,  bequeath  those  very 
jewels  to  her*daughter,  the  present  Miss  Folliard,  on  the 
condition  that  she  too  should  consider  them  as  her  private 
property  V 

"Why,  I  believe  she  did;  indeed  I  am  sure  of  it, 
because  I  was  present  at  the  time." 

"In  what  part  of  the  house  were  those  jewels  deposited  V* 

"  In  a  large  oak  cabinet,  that  stands  in  a  recess  in  my 
library." 

"  Did  you  keep  what  you  call  the  Folliard  jewels  there  1" 

"Yes,  all  our  jewellery  was  kept  there." 

"But  there  was  no  portion  of  the  Folliard  jewellery 
touched  V 

"No;  but  the  Bingham  sets  were  all  taken,  and  all 
found  upon  the  prisoner." 

"What  was  your  opinion  of  the  prisoner's  circum- 
stances V 

"  I  could  form  no  opinion  about  them." 

"Had  he  not  the  reputation  of  being  an  independent 
man?" 

"  I  believe  such  was  the  impression." 

"  In  what  style  of  life  did  he  live  V 

"  Certainly  in  the  style  of  a  gentleman." 

"  Do  you  think,  then,  that  necessity  was  likely  to  tempt 
a  man  of  independence  like  him  to  steal  your  daughter's 
jewels  r 

"I'd  advise  you,  Sergeant  Fox,  not  to  put  me  out  of 
temper;  I  haven't  much  to  spare  just  now.  What  the 
deuce  are  you  at  1" 

"  Will  you  answer  my  question  V* 

"  No,  I  don't  think  it  was." 

"If  the  Bingham  jewellery  had  been  stolen  by  a  thief,  do 
you  think  that  thief  would  have  left  the  Folliard  jewellery 
behind  him  V 

"  I'll  take  my  oath  you  wouldn't,  if  you  had  been  in  the 
place  of  the  person  that  took  them.  You'd  have  put  the 
Bingham  jewellery  in  one  pocket,  and  balanced  it  with  the 
Folliard  in  the  other.     But,"  he  added,  after  a  slight  pause, 


394  WILLY  REILLY. 

"the  villain  stole  from  me  a  jewel  more  valuable  and 
dearer  to  her  father's  heart  than  all  the  jewellery  of  the 
universal  world  put  together.  He  stole  my  child,  my  only 
child,"  and  as  he  spoke,  the  tears  ran  slowly  down  his 
cheeks.  The  Court  and  spectators  were  touched  by  this, 
and  Fox  felt  that  it  was  a  point  against  them.  Even  he 
himself  was  touched,  and  saw  that,  with  respect  to  Eeilly's 
safety,  the  sooner  he  got  rid  of  the  old  man,  for  the  present 
at  least,  the  better. 

"Mr.  Folliard,"  said  he,  "you  may  withdraw  now. 
Your  daughter  loved,  as  what  woman  has  not?  There 
stands  the  object  of  her  affections,  and  I  appeal  to  your 
own  feelings  whether  aDy  living  woman  could  be  blamed 
for  loving  such  a  man.  You  may  go  down,  sir,  for  the 
present." 

The  prosecuting  counsel  then  said :  "  My  lord,  we  pro- 
duce Miss  Folliard  herself,  to  bear  testimony  against  this 
man.     Crier,  let  Helen  Folliard  be  called." 

Now  was  the  moment  of  intense  and  incredible  interest. 
There  was  the  far-famed  beauty  herself,  to  appear  against 
her  manly  lover.  The  stir  in  the  court,  the  expectation,  the 
anxiety  to  see  her,  the  stretching  of  necks,  the  pressure  of 
one  over  another,  the  fervour  of  curiosity,  was  such  as  the 
reader  may  possibly  conceive,  but  such  certainly  as  we  can- 
not attempt  to  describe.  She  advanced  from  a  side  door, 
deeply  veiled ;  but  the  tall  and  majestic  elegance  of  her 
figure  not  only  struck  ail  hearts  with  admiration,  but  pre- 
pared them  for  the  inexpressible  beauty  with  which  the 
whole  kingdom  rang.  She  was  assisted  to  the  table,  and 
helped  into  the  witness's  chair  by  her  father,  who  seemed 
to  triumph  in  her  appearance  there.  On  taking  her  seat, 
the  buzz  and  murmur  of  the  spectators  became  hushed 
into  a  silence  like  that  of  death,  and,  until  she  spoke,  a 
feather  might  have  been  heard  falling  in  the  court. 

"Miss  Folliard,"  said  the  judge,  in  a  most  respectful 
voice,  "you  are  deeply  veiled, — but  perhaps  you  are  not 
aware  that,  in  order  to  give  evidence  in  a  court  of  justice, 
your  veil  should  be  up;  will  you  have  the  goodness  to 
raise  it  V7 

Deliberately  and  slowly  she  raised  it,  as  the  Court  had 
desired  her — but,  oh  I  what  an  effulgence  of  beauty,  what 


WILLY  REILLY.  395 

wonderful  brilliancy,  what  symmetry,  what  radiance,  what 
tenderness,  what  expression ! 

But  we  feel  that  to  attempt  the  description  of  that  face, 
which  almost  had  divinity  stamped  upon  it,-  is  beyond  all 
our  powers.  The  whole  court,  every  spectator,  man  and 
woman,  all  for  a  time  were  mute,  whilst  their  hearts  drank 
in  the  delicious  draught  of  admiration  which  such  beauty 
created.  After  having  raised  her  veil,  she  looked  around 
the  court  with  a  kind  of  wonder,  after  which  her  eyes 
rested  on  Eeilly,  and  immediately  her  lids  dropped,  for 
she  feared  that  she  had  done  wrong  in  looking  upon  him. 
This  made  many  of  those  hearts  who  were  interested  in  his 
fate  sink,  and  wonder  why  such  treachery  should  be 
associated  with  features  that  breathed  only  of  angelic 
goodness  and  humanity. 

"  Miss  Folliard,"  said  the  leading  counsel  engaged  against 
Eeilly,  "I  am  happy  to  hear  that  you  regret  some  past 
occurrences  that  took  place  with  respect  to  you  and  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar?" 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  in  a  voice  that  was  melody  itself,  "  I 
do  regret  them." 

Fox  kept  his  eye  fixed  upon  her,  after  which  he  whis- 
pered something  to  one  or  two  of  his  brother  lawyers ;  they 
shook  their  heads,  and  immediately  set  themselves  to  hear 
and  note  her  examination. 

"  Miss  Folliard,  you  are  aware  of  the  charges  which  have 
placed  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  of  justice  and  his  country1?" 

"  Not  exactly ;  I  have  heard  little  of  it,  beyond  the  fact 
of  his  incarceration." 

"  He  stands  here  charged  with  two  very  heinous  crimes 
— one  of  them,  the  theft  or  robbery  of  a  valuable  packet  of 
jewels,  your  father's  property." 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  replied,  "  they  are  my  own  exclusive  pro- 
perty— not  my  father's.  They  were  the  property  of  my 
dear  mother,  who,  on  her  deathbed,  bequeathed  them  to 
me,  in  the  presence  of  my  father  himself;  and  I  always 
considered  them  as  mine." 

"  But  they  were  found  upon  the  person  of  the  prisoner  V 

"Oh,  yes;  but  that  is  very  easily  explained.  It  is  no 
secret  now,  that,  in  order  to  avoid  a  marriage  which  my 
father  was  forcing  on  me  with  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  I 


396  WILLY  REILLY. 

chose  the  less  evil,  and  committed  myself  to  the  honour  of 
Mr.  Eeilly.  If  I  had  not  done  so,  I  should  have  committed 
suicide,  I  think,  rather  than  marry  Whitecraft — a  man  so 
utterly  devoid  of  principle  and  delicacy,  that  he  sent  an 
abandoned  female  into  my  father's  house  in  the  capacity  of 
my  maid  and  also  as  a  spy  upon  my  conduct." 

This  astounding  fact  created  an  immense  sensation 
throughout  the  court,  and  the  lawyer  who  was  examining 
her  began  to  feel  that  her  object  in  coming  there  was  to 
give  evidence  in  favour  of  Eeilly,  and  not  against  him. 
He  determined,  however,  to  try  her  a  little  farther,  and 
proceeded : 

"But,  Miss  Folliard,  how  do  you  account  for  the  fact  of 
the  Bingham  jewels  being  found  upon  the  person  of  the 
prisoner]" 

" It  is  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world,"  she  replied.  "I 
brought  my  own  jewels  with  me,  and  finding,  as  we  pro- 
ceeded, that  I  was  likely  to  lose  them,  having  no  pocket 
sufficiently  safe  in  which  to  carry  them,  I  asked  Eeilly  to 
take  charge  of  them,  which  he  did.  Our  unexpected 
capture,  and  the  consequent  agitation,  prevented  him  from 
returning  them  to  me,  and  they  were  accordingly  found 
upon  his  person ;  but,  as  for  stealing  them  he  is  jusb  as 
guilty  as  his  lordship  on  the  bench." 

"  Miss  Folliard,"  proceeded  the  lawyer,  "  you  have  taken 
us  by  surprise  to-day.  How  does  it  happen  that  you 
volunteered  your  evidence  against  the  prisoner,  and,  now 
that  you  have  come  forward,  every  word  you  utter  is  in  his 
favour  1  Your  mind  must  have  recently  changed — a  fact 
which  takes  very  much  away  from  the  force  of  that 
evidence." 

"  I  pray  you,  sir,  to  understand  me,  and  not  suffer  your- 
self to  be  misled.  I  never  stated  that  I  was  about  to  come 
here  to  give  evidence  against  Mr.  Eeilly ;  but  I  said,  when 
strongly  pressed  to  come,  that  I  would  come,  and  see 
justice  done.  Had  they  asked  me  my  meaning,  I  would 
have  instantly  told  them ;  because,  I  trust,  I  am  incapable 
of  falsehood;  and  I  will  say  now,  that  if  my  life  could 
obtain  that  of  William  Eeilly,  I  would  lay  it  willingly 
down  for  him,  as  I  am  certain  he  would  lay  down  his  for 
the  preservation  of  mine." 


WILLY  REILLY.  397 

There  was  a  pause  here,  and  a  murmur  of  approbation 
ran  through  the  court.  The  opposing  counsel,  too,  found 
that  they  had  been  led  astray,  and  that  to  examine  her  any 
further  would  be  only  a  weakening  of  their  own  cause. 
They  attached,  however,  no  blame  of  insincerity  to  her, 
but  visited  with  much  bitterness  the  unexpected  capsize 
which  they  had  got,  on  the  stupid  head  of  Doldrum,  their 
attorney.  They,  consequently,  determined  to  ask  her  no 
more  questions,  and  she  was  about  to  withdraw,  when  Fox 
rose  up,  and  said  : 

"  Miss  Folliard,  I  am  counsel  for  the  prisoner  at  the  bar, 
and  I  trust  you  will  answer  me  a  few  questions.  I  per- 
ceive, Madam,  that  you  are  fatigued  of  this  scene ;  but  the 
questions  I  shall  put  to  you  will  be  few  and  brief.  Aq 
attachment  has  existed  for  some  time  between  you  and  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar  %  You  need  not  be  ashamed,  Madam, 
to  reply  to  it." 

"I  am  not  ashamed,"  she  replied,  proudly,  "and  it  is 
true." 

"Was  your  father  aware  of  that  attachment  at  any 
time?" 

"  He  was,  from  a  very  early  period." 
"  Pray,  how  did  he  discover  it  V 
"  I  myself  told  him  of  my  love  for  Eeilly." 
"  Did  your  father  give  his  consent  to  that  attachment  V 
«  Conditionally  he  did." 

"  And  pray,  Miss  Folliard,  what  were  the  conditions  %* 
"That  Eeilly   should   abjure   his   creed,    and   then   no 
further  obstacle  should  stand  in  the  way  of  our  union,  he 
said." 

"Was  ever  that  proposal  mentioned  to  Eeilly  1" 
"Yes,   I  mentioned  it  to  him  myself;  but,  well  as'  he 
loved  me,  he  would  suffer  to  go  into  an  early  grave,  he 
said,  sooner  than  abandon  his  religion ;  and  I  loved  him  a 
thousand  times  the  better  for  his  noble  adherence  to  it." 
"Did  he  not  save  your  father's  life  ?" 
"  He  did,  and  the  life  of  a  faithful  and  attached  old  servant 
at  the  same  time." 

Now,  although  this  fact  was  generally  known,  yet  the 
statement  of  it  here  occasioned  a  strong  expression  of 
indignation  against  the  man  who  could  come  forward  and 


398  WILLY  REILLY. 

prosecute  the  individual,  to  whose  courage  and  gallantry  he 
stood  indebted  for  his  escape  from  murder.  The  un- 
certainty of  Folliard's  character,  however,  was  so  well 
known,  and  his  whimsical  changes  of  opinion  such  a  matter 
of  proverb  amongst  the  people,  that  many  persons  said  to 
each  other : 

"  The  cracked  old  Squire  is  in  one  of  his  tantrums  now; 
he'll  be  a  proud  man  if  he  can  convict  Eeilly  to-day  3  and 
perhaps  to-morrow,  or  in  a  month  hence,  he'll  be  cursing 
himself  for  what  he  did — for  that's  his  way." 

"Well,  Miss  Folliard,"  said  Fox,  "we  will  not  detain 
you  any  longer ;  this  to  you  must  be  a  painful  scene ;  you 
may  retire,  Madam." 

She  did  not  immediately  withdraw,  but  taking  a  green 
silk  purse  out  of  her  bosom,  she  opened  it,  and,  after 
inserting  her  long  white,  taper  fingers  into  it,  she  brought 
out  a  valuable  emerald  ring,  and  placing  it  in  the  hands  of 
the  crier,  she  said : 

"  Give  that  ring  to  the  prisoner. — I  know  not,  William." 
she  added,  "  whether  I  shall  ever  see  you  again  or  not.  It 
may  so  happen  that  this  is  the  last  time  my  eyes  can  ever 
rest  upon  you  with  love  and  sorrow."  Hera  a  few  bright 
tears  ran  down  her  lovely  cheeks.  "  If  you  should  be  sent 
to  a  far-off  land,  wear  this  for  the  sake  of  her  who  appre- 
ciated your  virtues,  your  noble  spirit,  and  your  pure  and 
disinterested  love ;  look  upon  it  when,  perhaps,  the 
Atlantic  may  roll  between  us,  and  when  you  do,  think  of 
your  Cooleen  Bawn,  and  the  love  she  bore  you  ;  but  if  a  still 
tmhappier  fate  should  be  yours,  let  it  be  placed  with  you 
in  your  grave,  and  next  that  heart,  that  noble  heart,  that 
refused  to  sacrifice  your  honour  and  your  religion  even  to 
your  love  for  me.     I  will  now  go," 

There  is  nothing  so  brave  and  fearless  as  innocence. 
Her  youth,  the  majesty  of  her  beauty,  and  the  pathos  of 
her  expressions,  absolutely  flooded  the  court  with  tears. 
The  judge  wept,  and  hardened  old  barristers,  with  hearts 
like  the  nether  millstone,  were  forced  to  put  their  hand- 
kerchiefs to  their  eyes ;  but  as  they  felt  that  it  might  be 
detrimental  to  their  professional  characters  to  be  caught 
weeping,  they  shaded  off  the  pathos  under  the  hypocritical 
pretence  of  blowing  their  noses.     The  sobs  from  the  ladies 


WILLY  REILLY.  39  d 

in  the  gallery  were  loud  and  vehement,  and  Eeilly  himself 
was  so  deeply  moved  that  he  felt  obliged  to  put  his  face 
upon  his  hands,  as  he  bent  over  the  bar,  in  order  to  con- 
ceal his  emotion.  He  received  the  *ring  with  moist  eyes, 
kissed  it,  and  placed  it  in  a  small  locket  which  he  put 
in  his  bosom. 

"  Now,"  said  the  Cooleen  Bawn,  "  I  am  ready  to  go." 
She  was  then  conducted  to  the  room  to  which  we  have 
alluded,  where  she  met  Mrs.  Brown  and  Mrs.  Hastings, 
both  of  whom  she  found  in  tears — for  they  had  been  in  the 
gallery  and  witnessed  all  that  had  happened.  They  both 
embraced  her  tenderly,  and  attempted  to  console  her  as 
well  as  they  could ;  but  a  weight  like  death,  she  said, 
pressed  upon  her  heart,  and  she  begged  them  not  to 
distract  her  by  their  sympathy,  kind  and  generous  as  she 
felt  it  to  be ;  but  to  allow  her  to  sit,  and  nurture  her  own 
thoughts  until  she  could  hear  the  verdict  of  the  jury. 
Mrs.  Hastings  returned  to  the  gallery,  and  arrived  there 
in  time  to  hear  the  touching  and  brilliant  speech  of  Fox, 
which  we  are  not  presumptuous  enough  to  imagine,  much 
less  to  stultify  ourselves  by  attempting  to  give.  He 
dashed  the  charge  of  Eeilly 's  theft  of  the  jewels  to  pieces — 
not  a  difficult  task,  after  the  evidence  that  had  been  given ; 
and  then  dwelt  upon  the  loves  of  this  celebrated  pair  with 
such  force,  and  eloquence,  and  pathos,  that  the  court  was 
once  more  melted  into  tears.  The  closing  speech  by  the 
leading  counsel  against  Eeilly,  was  bitter ;  but  the  gist  of  it 
turned  upon  the  fact  of  his  having  eloped  with  a  ward  of ' 
Chancery,  contrary  to  law ;  and  he  informed  the  jury  that 
no  affection — no  consent  upon  the  part  of  any  young  lady 
under;  age,  was  either  a  justification  of,  or  a  protection 
against  such  an  abduction  as  that  of  which  Eeilly  had  been 
guilty.  The  state  of  the  law  at  the  present  time,  he 
assured  them,  rendered  it  a  felony  to  marry  a  Catholic  and 
a  Protestant  together;  and  he  then  left  the  case  in  the 
hands,  he  said,  of  an  honest  Protestant  jury. 

The  judge's  charge  was  brief.  He  told  the  jury  that 
they  could  not  convict  the  prisoner  on  the  imputed  felony 
of  the  jewels ;  but  that  the  proof  of  his  having  taken  away 
Miss  Polliard  from  her  father's  house,  with — as  the  law 
stood — her   felonious   abduction,   for   the   purpose   of  in- 


400  WILLY  REILLY. 

veigling  her  into  an  unlawful  marriage  with  himself,  was 
the  subject  for  their  consideration.  Even  had  he  been  a 
Protestant,  the  law  could  afford  him  no  protection  in  the 
eye  of  the  Court  of  Chancery. 

The  jury  retired ;  but  their  absence  from  their  box  was 
very  brief.  Unfortunately,  their  foreman  was  cursed  with 
a  dreadful  hesitation  in  his  speech,  and,  as  he  entered,  the 
Clerk  of  the  Crown  said : 

"  Well,  gentlemen,  have  you  agreed  in  your  verdict  1 " 
There  was  a  solemn  silence,  during  which  nothing  was 
heard  but  a  convulsive  working  about  the  chest  and  glottis 
of  the  foreman,  who  at  length  said : 
"  We — we — we — we  have." 
"Is  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  guilty  or  not  guilty  V1 
Here  the  internal  but  obstructed  machinery  of  the  chest 
and  throat  set  to  work  again,  and  at  last  the  foreman  was 
able  to  get  out — "  Guilty." 

Mrs.  Hastings  had  heard  enough,  and  too  much ;  and,  as 
the  sentence  was  pronounced,  she  instantly  withdrew ;  but 
how  to  convey  the  melancholy  tidings  to  the  Cooleen  Bawn 
she  knew  not.  In  the  meantime  the  foreman,  who  had  noo 
fully  delivered  himself  of  the  verdict,  added,  after  two  or 
three  desperate  hiccups — " on  the  second  count" 

This,  if  the  foreman  had  not  laboured  under  such  an  ex- 
traordinary hesitation,  might  have  prevented  much  suffer- 
ing and  many  years  of  unconscious  calamity  to  one  of  the 
unhappy  parties  of  whom  we  are  writing,  inasmuch  as  the 
felony  of  the  jewels  would  have  been  death,  whilst  the  elope- 
ment with  a  ward  of  Chancery  was  only  transportation. 

When  Mrs.  Hastings  entered  the  room  where  the  Cooleen 
Bawn  was  awaiting  the  verdict  with  a  dreadful  intensity  of 
feeling,  the  latter  rose  up,  and,  throwing  her  arms  about 
her  neck,  looked  into  her  face,  with  an  expression  of  eager- 
ness and  wildness,  which  Mrs.  Hastings  thought  might  be 
best  allayed  by  knowing  the  worst ;  as  the  heart,  in  such 
circumstances,  generally  collects  itself,  and  falls  back  upon 
its  own  resources. 
"  Well,  Mrs.  Hastings,  well— the  verdict  V 
"Collect  yourself,  my  child — be  firm — be  a  woman. 
Collect  yourself — for  you  will  require  it.  The  verdict— 
Guilty  !" 


WILLY  REILLY.  401 

The  Cooleen  Bawn  did  not  faint — nor  become  weak — but 
she  put  her  fair  white  hand  to  her  forehead — then  looked 
around  the  room,  then  upon  Mrs.  Brown,  and  lastly  upon 
Mrs.  Hastings.  They  also  looked  upon  her.  God  help  both 
her  and  them  !  Yes,  they  looked  upon  her  countenance — 
that  lovely  countenance — and  then  into  her  eyes — those 
eyes !  But,  alas !  where  was  there  beauty  now  1  Where 
their  expression? 

"Miss  Folliard!  my  darling  Helen!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Hastings,  in  tears — "great  God,  what  is  this,  Mrs.  Brown? 
Come  here  and  look  at  her." 

Mrs.  Brown,  on  looking  at  her,  whispered,  in  choking 
accents — "  Oh  !  my  God,  the  child's  reason  is  overturned. 
What  is  there  now  in  those  once  glorious  eyes  but  vacancy  ? 
Oh,  that  I  had  never  lived  to  see  this  awful  day  !  Helen, 
the  treasure,  the  delight  of  ail  who  ever  knew  you,  what  is 
wrong  1  Oh,  speak  to  us — recognise  us — your  own  two 
best  friends — Helen — Helen  !  speak  to  us." 

She  looked  upon  them  certainly ;  but  it  was  with  a  dead 
and  vacant  stare  which  wrung  their  hearts. 

"  Come,"  said  she,  "  tell  me  where  is  William  Reilly  % 
Oh,  bring  me  to  William  Eeilly;  they  have  taken  me  from 
him,  and  I  know  not  where  to  find  him." 

The  two  kind-hearted  ladies  looked  at  one  another,  each 
stupefied  by  the  mystery  of  what  they  witnessed. 
.  "  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Hastings,  "  her  father  must  be  instantly 
sent  for.  Mrs.  Brown,  go  to  the  lobby — there  is  an  officer 
there — desire  him  to  go  to  Mr.  Folliard  and  say  that — but 
we  had  better  not  alarm  him  too  much,"  she  added,  "  say 
that  Miss  Folliard  wishes  to  see  him  immediately." 

The  judge,  we  may  observe  here,  had  not  yet  pronounced 
sentence  upon  Reilly.  The  old  man,  who,  under  all  possible 
circumstances,  was  so  affectionately  devoted  and  attentive 
to  his  daughter,  immediately  proceeded  to  the  room,  in  a 
state  of  great  triumph  and  exultation,  exclaiming,  "  Guilty, 
guilty;  we  have  noosed  him  at  last."  He  even  snapped 
his  fingers,  and  danced  about  for  a  time,  until  rebuked  by 
Mrs.  Hastings. 

"  Unhappy  and  miserable  old  man,"  she  exclaimed,  with 
tears,  "  what  have  you  done  1  Look  at  the  condition  of  your 
only  child,  whom  you  have  murdered.    She  is  now  a  maniac." 

2c 


402  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  What,"  he  exclaimed,  rushing  to  her,  "  what,  what  is 
this  ?  What  do  you  mean  %  Helen,  my  darling,  my  child 
— my  delight — what  is  wrong  with  you  %  Recollect  your- 
self, my  dearest  treasure.  Do  you  not  know  me,  your  own 
father?  Oh,  Helen,  Helen!  for  the  love  of  G-jd.  speak  to 
me  ?  Say  you  know  me — call  me  father — rouse  yourself — 
recollect  me — don't  you  know  who  I  am  ?" 

There,  however,  was  the  frightfully  vacant  glance,  but  no 
reply. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  in  a  low  calm  voice,  "  where  is  William 
Reilly  I  They  have  taken  me  from  him,  and  I  cannot  find 
him  ;  bring  me  to  William  Reilly." 

"Don't  you  know  me,  Helen?  don't  you  know  your 
loving  father  ?  Oh,  speak  to  me,  child  of  my  heart !  speak 
but  one  word  as  a  proof  that  you  know  me." 

She  looked  on  him,  but  that  look -filled  his  heart  with 
unutterable  anguish ;  he  clasped  her  to  that  heart,  he 
kissed  her  lips,  he  strove  to  soothe  and  console  her — but  in 
vain.  There  was  the  vacant  but  unsettled  eye,  from  which 
the  bright  expression  of  reason  was  gone ;  but  no  recog- 
nition— no  spark  of  reflection  or  conscious  thought  — 
nothing  but  the  melancholy  inquiry  from  those  beautiful  lips 
of — "Where's  William  Reilly?  They  have  taken  me  from 
him — and  will  not  allow  me  to  see  him.  Oh,  bring  me 
to  William  Reilly." 

"  Oh,  wretched  fate,"  exclaimed  her  distracted  father,  "  I 
am — I  am  a  murderer,  and  faithful  Connor  was  right — 
Mrs.  Brown — Mrs.  Hastings — hear  me,  both — I  was 
warned  of  this,  but  I  would  not  listen  either  to  reason  or 
remonstrance,  and  now  I  am  punished,  as  Connor  predicted. 
Great  heaven !  what  a  fate  both  for  her  and  me — for  her  the 
innocent,  and  for  me  the  guilty." 

It  is  unnecessary  to  dwell  upon  the  father's  misery  and 
distraction  ;  but,  from  all  our  readers  have  learned  of  his 
extraordinary  tenderness  and  affection  for  that  good  and 
lovely  daughter,  they  may  judge  of  what  he  suffered.  He 
immediately  ordered  his  carriage,  and  had  barely  time  to 
hear  that  Reilly  had  been  sentenced  to  transportation  for 
seven  years.  His  daughter  was  quite  meek  and  tractable ; 
she  spoke  not,  nor  could  any  ingenuity  on  their  part  extract 
the  slightest  reply  from  her.     Neither  did  she  shed  a  single 


WILLY   REILLY.  403 

tear,  but  the  vacant  light  of  her  eyes  had  stamped  a 
fatuitous  expression  on  her^features  that  was  melancholy 
and  heart-breaking,  beyond  all  power  of  language  to 
describe. 

No  other  person  had  seen  her  since  the  bereavement  of 
her  reason,  except  the  officer  who  kept  guard  on  the  lobby, 
and  who,  in  the  hurry  and  distraction  of  the  moment,  had 
been  despatched  by  Mrs.  Brown  for  a  glass  of  cold  water. 
Her  father's  ravings,  however,  in  the  man's  presence, 
added  to  his  own  observation  and  the  distress  of  her 
female  friends,  were  quite  sufficient  to  satisfy  him  of  the 
nature  of  her  complaint,  and  in  less  than  half-an-hour  it 
was  through  the  whole  court-house,  and  the  town  besides — 
that  the  Cooleen  Baton*  had  gone  mad  on  hearing  the 
sentence  that  was  passed  upon  her  lover.  Her  two  friends 
accompanied  her  home,  and  remained  with  her  for  the 
night. 

Such  was  the  melancholy  conclusion  of  the  trial  of  Willy 
Reilly ;  but  even  taking  it  at  its  worst,  it  involved  a  very 
different  fate  from  that  of  his  vindictive  rival,  Whitecraft. 
It  appeared  that  that  worthy  gentleman  and  the  Red 
Rapparee  had  been  sentenced  to  die  on  the  same  day,  and 
at  the  same  hour.  It  is  true,  Whitecraft  was  aware  that 
a  deputation  had  gone  post-haste  to  Dublin  Castle,  to 
solicit  his  pardon,  or  at  least  some  lenient  commutation  of 
punishment.  Still,  it  was  feared  that,  owing  to  the  dread- 
ful state  of  the  roads,  and  the  slow  mode  of  travelling  at 
that  period,  there  was  a  probability  that  the  pardon  might 
not  arrive  in  time  to  be  available ;  and  indeed  there  was 
every  reason  to  apprehend  as  much.  The  day  appointed 
for  the  execution  of  the  Red  Rapparee  and  him  arrived — 
nay,  the  very  hour  had  come;  but  still  there  was  hope 
among  his  friends.  The  sheriff,  a  firm,  but  fair  and 
reasonable  man,  waited  beyond  the  time  named  by  the 
judge  for  his  execution.  At  length  he  felt  the  necessity  of 
discharging  his  duty;  for,  although  more  than  an  hour 
beyond  the  appointed  period  had  now  elapsed,  yet  this 
delay  proceeded  from  no  personal  regard  he  entertained  for 
the  felon,  but  from  respect  for  many  of  those  who  had  in- 
terested themselves  in  his  fate. 


4:0  &  WILLY   REILLY. 

After  an  unusual  delay  the  sheriff  felt  himself  called 
upon  to  order  both  the  RTapparee  and  the  baronet  for 
execution.  In  waiting  so  long  for  a  pardon,  he  felt  that  he 
had  transgressed  his  duty,  and  he  accordingly  ordered  them 
out  for  the  last  ceremony.  The  hardened  Rapparee  died 
sullen  and  silent ;  the  only  regret  he  expressed  being  that 
he  could  not  live  to  see  his  old  friend  tarried  off  before 
him. 

"  Troth,"  replied  the  hangman,  "  only  that  the  sheriff 
has  ordhered  me  to  hang  you  first,  as  bein'  the  betther 
man,  I  would  give  you  that  same  satisfaction  ;  but  if  you're 
not  in  a  very  great  hurry  to  the  warm  corner  you're  goin'  to, 
and  if  you  will  just  take  your  time  for  a  few  minutes,  I'll 
engage  to  say  you  will  soon  have  company.  God  speed 
you,  any  way,"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  turned  him  off;  "  only 
take  your  time,  and  wait  for  your  neighbours. — Now,  Sir 
Robert,"  said  he,  "  turn  about,  they  say,  is  fair  play — it's 
your  turn  now;  but  you  look  unbecomin'  upon  it.  Hould 
up  your  head,  man,  and  don't  be  cast  down.  You'll  have 
company  where  you're  goin',  for  the  Red  Rapparee  tould  me 
to  tell  you  that  he'd  wait  for  you. — Hallo!  what's  that1?" 
he  exclaimed,  as  he  cast  his  eye  to  the  distance,  and 
discovered  a  horseman  riding  for  life,  with  a  white 
handkerchief,  or  flag  of  some  kind,  floating  in  the  breeze. 
The  elevated  position  in  which  the  executioner  was  placed 
enabled  him  to  see  the  signal  before  it  could  be  perceived 
by  the  crowd.  "Come,  Sir  Robert,"  said  he,  "stand 
where  I'll  place  you — there's  no  use  in  asking  you  to  hould 
up  your  head,  for  you're  not  able ;  but  listen.  You  hanged 
my  brother  that  you  knew  to  be  innocent;  and  now  I 
hang  you  that  I  know  to  be  guilty.  Yes,  I  hang  you,  with 
the  white  flag  of  the  Lord  Lieutenant's  pardon  for  you 
wavin'  in  the  distance,  and  listen  again,  remember  Willy 
JReilly  /'  and  with  these  words,  he  launched  him  into 
eternity. 

The  uproar  among  his  friends  was  immense,  as  was  the 
cheering  from  the  general  crowd,  at  the  just  fate  of  this 
bad  man.  The  former  rushed  to  the  gallows,  in  order  to 
cut  him  down,  with  a  hope  that  life  might  still  be  in  him, 
a  process  which  the  sheriff,  after  perusing  his  pardon, 
permitted    them    to    carry  into   effect.      The   body    was 


WILLY   REILLY.  405 

accordingly  taken  into  the  prison,  and  a  surgeon  procured 
to  examine  it ;  but  altogether  in  vain ;  his  hour  had  gone 
by,  life  was  extinct,  and  all  the  honour  they  could  now  pay 
Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  was  to  give  him  a  pompous  funeral, 
and  declare  him  a  martyr  to  Popery, — both  of  which  they 
did. 

On  the  day  previous  to  Reilly's  departure,  his  humble 
friend  and  namesake,  Fergus,  at  the  earnest  solicitation  of 
Reilly  himself,  was  permitted  to  pay  him  a  last  melancholy 
visit.  After  his  sentence,  as  well  as  before  it,  every  atten- 
tion had  been  paid  to  bim  by  O'Shaughnessy,  the  gaoler, 
who,  although  an  avowed  Protestant,  and  a  brand  plucked 
from  the  burning,  was,  nevertheless,  a  lurking  Catholic  at 
heart,  and  felt  a  corresponding  sympathy  with  his  prisoner. 
When  Fergus  entered  his  cell,  he  found  him  neither  fettered 
nor  manacled,  but  perfectly  in  the  enjoyment  at  least  of 
bodily  freedom.  It  is  impossible,  indeed,  to  say  how  far 
the  influence  of  money  may  have  gone  in  securing  him  the 
comforts  which  surrounded  him,  and  the  attentions  which 
he  received.  On  entering  his  cell,  Fergus  was  struck  by 
the  calm  and  composed  air  with  which  he  received  him. 
His  face,  it  is  true,  was  paler  than  usual,  but  a  feeling  of 
indignant  pride,  if  not  of  fixed,  but  stern  indignation, 
might  be  read  under  the  composure  into  which  he  forced 
himself,  and  which  he  endeavoured  to  suppress.  He 
approached  Fergus,  and  extending  his  hand  with  a  peculiar 
smile,  very  difficult  to  be  described,  said : 

"Fergus,  I  am  glad  to  see  you;  I  hope  you  are  safe — at 
least,  I  have  heard  so." 

"  I  am  safe,  sir,  and  free,"  replied  Fergus ;  "  thanks  to 
the  Red  Rapparee  and  the  sheriff  for  it." 

"  Well,"  proceeded  Reilly,  "  you  have  one  comfort — the 
Red  Rapparee  will  neither  tempt  you  nor  trouble  you 
again;  but  is  there  no  danger  of  his  gang  taking  up  his 
quarrel  and  avenging  him?" 

"  His  gang,  sir  1  Why,  only  for  me  he  would  'a'  be- 
trayed every  man  of  them  to  Whitecraft  and  the  Govern- 
ment, and  had  them  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered — ay, 
and  their  heads  grinning  at  us  in  every  town  in  the 
county." 


406  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  Well,  Fergus,  let  his  name  and  his  crimes  perish  with 
him ;  but,  as  for  you,  what  do  you  intend  to  do  V* 

"Troth,  sir,"  replied  Fergus,  "it's  more  than  I  rightly 
know.  I  had  my  hopes,  like  others;  but,  somehow  luck 
has  left  all  sorts  of  lovers  of  late — from  Sir  Kobert  White- 
craft  to  your  humble  servant." 

"But  you  may  thank  God,"  said  Eeilly,  with  a  smile, 
"  that  you  had  not  Sir  Robert  Whitecraf t's  luck." 

"  Faith,  sir,"  replied  Fergus,  archly,  "  there's  a  pair  of  us 
may  do  so.  You  went  nearer  his  luck — such  as  it  was — 
than  I  did." 

"True  enough,"  replied  the  other,  with  a  serious  air; 
"I  had  certainly  a  narrow  escape;  but  I  wish  to  know,  as 
I  said,  what  you  intend  to  do  1  It  is  your  duty  now, 
Fergus,  to  settle  industriously  and  honestly." 

"  Ah,  sir,  honestly.  I  didn't  expect  that  from  you,  Mr. 
Eeilly."  - 

"Excuse  me,  Fergus,"  said  Eeilly,  taking  him  by  the 
hand ;  when  I  said  honestly,  I  did  not  mean  to  intimate 
anything  whatsoever  against  your  integrity.  I  know, 
unfortunately,  the  harsh  circumstances  which  drove  you 
to  associate  with  that  remorseless  villain  and  his  gang ;  but 
I  wish  you  to  resume  an  industrious  life,  and,  if  Ellen 
Connor  is  disposed  to  unite  her  fate  with  yours,  I  have 
provided  the  means — ample  means  for  you  both  to  be  com- 
fortable and  happy.  She  who  was  so  faithful  to  her 
mistress  will  not  fail  to  make  you  a  good  wife." 

"  Ah,"  replied  Fergus,  "it's  I  that  knows  that  well :  but, 
unfortunately,  I  have  no  hope  there." 

"  No  hope ;  how  is  that  1  I  thought  your  affection  was 
mutual." 

"  So  it  is,  sir — or,  rather,  so  it  was ;  but  she  has  affec- 
tion for  nobody  now,  barring  the  Cooleen  Bawn" 

Eeilly  paused;  and  appeared  deeply  moved  by  this. 
"  What,"  said  he  ;  "  will  she  not  leave  her?  But  I  am  not 
surprised  at  it." 

"  No,  sir,  she  will  not  leave  her,  but  has  taken  an  oath 
to  stay  by  her  night  and  day,  until — better  times  come." 

We  may  say  here,  that  Eeilly 's  friends  took  care  that 
neither  gaoler  nor  turnkey  should  make  him  acquainted 
with  the  unhappy  state  of  the  Cooleen  Bavm  ;  he  was,  conse- 


WILLY   REILLY.  407 

quently,  ignorant  of  it,  and,  fortunately,  remained  so  until 
after  his  return  home. 

"Fergus,"  said  Eeilly,  "can  you  tell  me  how  the  Cooleen 
Bawn  bears  the  sentence  which  sends  me  to  a  far  country  %■' 

"  How  would  she  bear  it,  sir  1  You  needn't  ask.  Connor, 
at  all  events,  will  not  part  from  her — not  any  way,  until 
you  come  back." 

"  Well,  Fergus,"  proceeded  Eeilly,  "  I  have,  as  I  said, 
provided  for  you  both ;  what  that  provision  is,  I  will  not 
mention  now.  Mr.  Hastings  will  inform  you.  But  if  you 
have  a  wish  to  leave  this  unhappy  and  distracted  country, 
even  without  Connor,  why,  by  applying  to  him,  you  will 
be  enabled  to  do  so ;  or,  if  you  wish  to  stay  at  home  and 
take  a  farm,  you  may  do  so." 

"  Divil  a  foot  I'll  leave  the  country,"  replied  the  other. 
"Ellen  may  stick  to  the  Cooleen  Bawn,  but,  be  my  sowl, 
I'll  stick  to  Ellen,  if  I  was  to  wait  these  seven  years.  I'll 
be  as  stiff  as  she  is  stout ;  but  at  any  rate,  she's  worth 
waitin'  for." 

"You  may  well  say  so,"  replied  Eeilly,  "and  I  can 
quarrel  neither  with  your  attachment  nor  your  patience ; 
but  you  will  not  forget  to  let  her  know  the  provision  which 
I  have  left  for  her  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Hastings,  and  tell 
her  it  is  a  slight  reward  for  her  noble  attachment  to  my 
dear  Cooleen  Bawn.  Fergus,"  he  proceeded,  "  have  you 
ever  had  a  dream  in  the  middle  of  which  you  awoke,  then 
fell  asleep  and  dreamt  out  the  dream?" 

"Troth  had  I,  often,  sir;  and,  by  the  way,  talkin'  of 
dreams,  I  dreamt  last  night  that  I  was  wantin'  Ellen  to 
marry  me,  and  she  said,  ■  Not  yet,  Fergus,  but  in  due 
time.' " 

"Well,  Fergus,"  proceeded  Eeilly,  "perhaps  there  is  but 
half  my  dream  of  life  gone  ;  who  knows  when  I  return — 
if  I  ever  do — but  my  dream  may  be  completed  %  and 
happily,  too ;  I  know  the  truth  and  faith  of  my  dear 
Cooleen  Bawn.  And,  Fergus,  it  is  not  merely  my  dear 
Cooleen  Bawn  that  I  feel  for,  but  for  my  unfortunate 
country.  I  am  not,  however,  without  hope,  that  the  day 
will  come — although  it  may  be  a  distant  one — when  she 
will  enjoy  freedom,  peace,  and  prosperity.  Now,  Fergus, 
good-bye,  and  farewell !    Come,  come,  be  a  man,"  he  added, 


408  WILLY   REILLY. 

with  a  melancholy  smile,  whilst  a  tear  stood  even  in  his 
own  eye — "  come,  Fergus,  I  will  not  have  this ;  I  won't 
say  farewell  for  ever,  because  I  expect  to  return  and  be 
happy  yet — if  not  in  my  own  country,  at  least  in  some 
other,  where  there  is  more  freedom,  and  less  persecution 
for  conscience'  sake." 

Poor  Fergus,  however,  when  the  parting  moment  arrived, 
was  completely  overcome.  He  caught  Reilly  in  his  arms — 
wept  over  him  bitterly — and,  after  a  last  and  sorrowful 
embrace,  was  prevailed  upon  to  take  his  leave. 

The  history  of  the  Cooleen  Bawn's  melancholy  fate  soon 
went  far  and  near,  and  many  an  eye  that  had  never  rested 
on  her  beauty  gave  its  tribute  of  tears  to  her  undeserved 
sorrows.  There  existed,  however,  one  individual  who  was 
the  object  of  almost  as  deep  a  compassion;  this  was  her 
father,  who  was  consumed  by  the  bitterest  and  most  pro- 
found remorse.  His  whole  character  became  changed  by 
this  terrible  and  unexpected  shock,  by  which  his  beautiful 
and  angelic  daughter  had  been  blasted  before  his  eyes. 
He  was  no  longer  the  boisterous  and  convivial  old  Squire, 
changeful  and  unsettled  in  all  his  opinions,  but  silent, 
quiet,  and  abstracted  almost  from  life. 

He  wept  incessantly,  but  his  tears  did  not  bring  him 
comfort,  for  they  were  tears  of  anguish  and  despair.  Ten 
times  a  day  he  would  proceed  to  her  chamber,  or  follow 
her  to  the  garden  where  she  loved  to  walk,  always  in  the 
delusive  hope  that  he  might  catch  some  spark  of  returning 
reason  from  those  calm-looking  but  meaningless  eyes  ;  after 
which,  he  would  weep  like  a  child.  With  respect  to  his 
daughter,  everything  was  done  for  her,  that  wealth  and 
human  means  could  accomplish,  but  to  no  purpose;  the 
malady  was  too  deeply  seated  to  be  effected  by  any  known 
remedy,  whether  moral  or  physical.  From  the  moment 
she  was  struck  into  insanity,  she  was  never  known  to  smile, 
or  to  speak,  unless  when  she  chanced  to  see  a  stranger, 
upon  which  she  immediately  approached,  and  asked  with 
clasped  hands : 

"  Oh  !  can  you  tell  me  where  is  William  Eeilly  ?  They 
have  taken  me  from  him,  and  I  cannot  find  him.  Oh  !  can 
you  tell  me  where  is  William  Eeilly  V 


WILLY  REILLY.  409 

There  was,  however,  another  individual  upon  whose 
heart  the  calamity  of  the  Gooleen  Bawn  fell  like  a  blight 
that  seemed  to  have  struck  it  into  such  misery  and  sorrow 
as  threatened  to  end  only  with  life.  This  was  the  faithful 
and  attached  Ellen  Connor.  On  the  day  of  Reilly's  trial, 
she  experienced  the  alternations  of  hope,  uncertainty,  and 
despair,  with  such  a  depth  of  anxious  feeling,  and  such 
feverish  excitement,  that  the  period  of  time  which  elapsed 
appeared  to  her  as  if  it  would  never  come  to  an  end.  She 
could  neither  sit,  nor  stand,  nor  work,  nor  read,  nor  take 
her  meals,  nor  scarcely  think  with  any  consistency  or  clear- 
ness of  thought.  We  have  mentioned  hope — but  it  was  the 
faintest  and  the  feeblest  element  in  that  chaos  of  distress 
and  confusion  which  filled  and  distracted  her  mind.  She 
knew  the  state  and  condition  of  the  country  too  well — she 
knew  the  powerful  influence  of  Mr.  Folliard  in  his  native 
county — she  knew  what  the  consequences  to  Reilly  must 
be  of  taking  away  a  Protestant  heiress ;  the  fact  was  there 
— plain,  distinct,  and  incontrovertible,  and  she  knew  that 
no  chance  of  impunity  or  acquittal  remained  for  any  one  of 
his  creed  guilty  of  such  a  violation  of  the  laws, — we  say, 
she  knew  all  this — but  it  was  not  of  the  fate  of  Reilly  she 
thought.  The  girl  was  an  acute  observer,  and  both  a  close 
and  clear  thinker.  She  had  remarked  in  the  Gooleen  Baw% 
on  several  occasions,  small  gushes  as  it  were  of  unsettled 
thought,  and  of  temporary  wildness,  almost  approaching  to 
insanity.  She  knew,  besides,  that  insanity  was  in  the 
family  on  her  father's  side  ;*  and,  as  she  had  so  boldly  and 
firmly  stated  to  that  father  himself,  she  dreaded  the  result 
which  Reilly's  conviction  might  produce  upon  a  mind  with 
such  a  tendency,  worn  down  and  depressed  as  it  had  been 
by  all  she  had  suffered,  and  more  especially  what  she  must 
feel  by  the  tumult  and  agitation  of  that  dreadful  day. 

It  was  about  two  hours  after  dark  when  she  was  startled 
by  the  noise  of  the  carriage-wheels  as  they  came  up  the 
avenue.  Her  heart  beat  as  if  it  would  burst,  the  blood 
rushed  to  her  head,  and  she  became  too  giddy  to  stand  or 


*  The  reader  must  take  this  as  the  necessary  material  for  our 
fiction.  There  never  was  insanity  in  Helen's  family  ;  and  we  make 
this  note  to  prevent  them  from  taking  unnecessary  offence. 


410  WILLY   REILLY. 

walk ;  then  it  seemed  to  rush  back  to  her  heart,  and  she 
was  seized  with  thick  breathing  and  feebleness;  but  at 
length,  strengthened  by  the  very  intensity  of  the  interest 
she  felt,  she  made  her  way  to  the  lower  steps  of  the  hall 
door  in  time  to  be  present  when  the  carriage  arrived  at  it. 
She  determined,  however,  wrought  up  as  she  was  to  the 
highest  state  of  excitement,  to  await,  to  watch,  to  listen. 
She  did  so.  The  carriage  stopped  at  the  usual  place,  the 
coachman  came  down  and  opened  the  door,  and  Mr. 
Folliard  came  out.  After  him,  assisted  by  Mrs.  Brown, 
came  Helen,  who  was  immediately  conducted  in  between 
the  latter  and  her  father.  In  the  meantime  poor  Ellen 
could  only  look  on.  She  was  incapable  of  asking  a  single 
question,  but  she  followed  them  up  to  the  drawing-room 
where  they  conducted  her  mistress.  When  she  was  about 
to  enter,  Mrs.  Brown  said : 

"Ellen,  you  had  better  not  come  in,  your  mistress  is 
unwell." 

Mrs.  Hastings  then  approached,  and,  with  a  good  deal  of 
judgment  and  consideration,  said : 

"  I  think  it  is  better,  Mrs.  Brown,  that  Ellen  should  see 
her,  or,  rather,  that  she  should  see  Ellen.  Who  can  tell 
how  beneficial  the  effect  may  be  on  her]  We  ail  know 
how  she  was  attached  to  Ellen." 

In  addition  to  those  fearful  intimations,  Ellen  heard 
inside  the  sobs  and  groans  of  her  distracted  father, 
mingled  with  caresses  and  such  tender  and  affectionate 
language  as,  she  knew  by  the  words,  could  only  be 
addressed  to  a  person  incapable  of  understanding  them. 
Mrs.  Brown  held  the  door  partially  closed,  but  the  faithful 
girl  would  not  be  repulsed.     She  pushed  in,  exclaiming : 

"  Stand  back,  Mrs.  Brown,  I  must  see  my  mistress ! — if 
she  is  my  mistress,  or  anybody's  mistress  now" — and  ac- 
cordingly she  approached  the  settee  on  which  the  Cooleen 
Baum  sat.  The  old  Squire  was  wringing  his  hands,  sob- 
bing, and  giving  vent  to  the  most  uncontrollable  sorrow. 

"  Oh,  Ellen,"  said  he,  "  pity  and  forgive  me.  Your 
mistress  is  gone,  gone  ! — she  knows  nobody  !" 

"  Stand  aside,"  she  replied,  "  stand  aside  ail  of  you ;  let 
me,  to  her." 

She   knelt  beside  the   settee,   looked  distractedly,  but 


WILLY   REILLY.  411 

keenly,  at  her  for  about  half-a-minute — but  there  she  sat 
calm,  pale,  and  unconscious.  At  length  she  turned  her 
eyes  upon  Ellen — for  ever  since  the  girl's  entrance  she  had 
been  gazing  on  vacancy — and  immediately  said : 

"  Oh  !  can  you  tell  me  where  is  William  Reilly  f  They 
have  taken  me  from  him,  and  I  cannot  find  him.  Oh !  will 
you  tell  me  where  is  William  Reilly?" 

Ellen  gave  two  or  three  rapid  sobs ;  but,  by  a  powerful 
effort  she  somewhat  composed  herself. 

"  Miss  Folliard,"  she  said,  in  a  choking  voice,  however — 
"darling  Miss  Folliard — my  beloved  mistress — Cooleen 
Baton — oh,  do  you  not  know  me — me,  your  own  faithful 
Ellen,  that  loved  you — and  that  loves  you  so  well — ay, 
beyond  father  and  mother,  and  all  others  living  in  this 
unhappy  world]  Oh,  speak  to  me,  dear  mistress — speak 
to  your  own  faithful  Ellen,  and  only  say  that  you  know 
me,  or  only  look  upon  me  as  if  you  did." 

Not  a  glance,  however,  of  recognition  followed  those 
loving  solicitations;  but  there,  before  them  all,  she  sat, 
with  the  pale  face,  the  sorrowful  brow,  and  the  vacant  look. 
Ellen  addressed  her  with  equal  tenderness  again  and  a^ain, 
but  with  the  same  melancholy  effect.  The  fact  was  beyond 
question — reason  had  departed ;  the  fair  temple  was  there, 
but  the  light  of  the  divinity  that  had  been  enshrined  in  it 
was  no  longer  visible ;  it  seemed  to  have  been  abandoned 
probably  for  ever.  Ellen  now  finding  that  every  effort  to 
restore  her  to  rational  consciousness  was  ineffectual,  rose 
up,  and  looking  about  for  a  moment,  her  eyes  rested  upon 
her  father. 

"  Oh,  Ellen,"  he  exclaimed,  "  spare  me,  spare  me — you 
know  I'm  in  your  power.  I  neglected  your  honest  and 
friendly  warning,  and  now  it  is  too  late." 

"  Poor  man,"  she  replied,  "  it  is  not  she,  but  you  that  is 
to  be  pitied.  No ;  after  this  miserable  sight,  never  shall 
my  lips  breathe  one  syllable  of  censure  against  you.  Your 
punishment  is  too  dreadful  for  that.  But  when  I  look 
upon  her — look  upon  her  now — oh,  my  God !  what  is 
this] -" 

"Help  the  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Brown,  quickly,  and  with 
alarm ;  "  oh,  she  has  fallen — raise  her  up,  Mr.  Folliard. 
Oh,  my  God,  Mrs.  Hastings,  what  a  scene  is  this  l" 


412  WILLY  REILLY. 

They  immediately  opened  her  stays,  and  conveyed  her  to 
another  settee,  where  she  lay  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  in  a  calm  and  tranquil  insensibility.  With  the  aid 
of  the  usual  remedies,  however,  she  was,  but  with  some 
difficulty,  restored,  after  which  she  burst  into  tears,  and 
wept  for  some  time  bitterly.  At  iength  she  recovered  a 
certain  degree  of  composure,  and,  after  settling  her  dress 
and  luxuriant  brown  hair,  aided  by  Mrs.  Brown  and  Mrs. 
Hastings,  she  arose,  and  once  more  approaching  her  lovely, 
but  unconscious  mistress,  knelt  down,  and  clasping  her 
hands,  looked  up  to  heaven,  whilst  she  said : 

"Here,  I  take  the  Almighty  God  to  witness,  that  from 
this  moment  out  I  renounce  father  and  mother,  brother 
and  sister,  friend  and  relative,  man  and  woman,  and  will 
abide  by  my  dear  unhappy  Cooleen  Baivn — that  blighted 
flower  before  us — both  by  day  and  by  night — through  all 
seasons — through  all  places  wherever  she  may  go,  or  be 
brought,  until  it  may  please  God  to  restore  her  to  reason, 
or  until  death  may  close  her  sufferings,  should  I  live  so 
long,  and  have  health  and  strength  to  carry  out  this  solemn 
oath ;  so  may  God  hear  me,  and  assist  me  in  my  intention." 

She  then  rose,  and,  putting  her  arms  around  the  fair  girl, 
kissed  her  lips,  and  poured  forth  a  copious  flood  of  tears 
into  her  bosom. 

"  I  am  yours  now,"  she  said,  caressing  her  mournfully ; 
"  I  am  yours  now,  my  ever  darling  mistress ;  and,  from 
this  hour  forth,  nothing  but  death  will  ever  separate  your 
own  Connor  from  you." 

Well  and  faithfully  did  she  keep  that  generous  and 
heroic  oath.  Ever,  for  many  a  long  and  hopeless  year,  was 
she  to  be  found  both  night  and  day,  by  the  side  of  that 
beautiful,  but  melancholy  sufferer.  No  other  hand  ever 
dressed  or  undressed  her ;  no  other  individual  ever 
attended  to  her  wants,  or  complied  with  those  little  fitful 
changes  and  caprices  to  which  persons  of  her  unhappy 
class  are  subject.  The  consequence  of  this  tender  and 
devoted,  attachment  was  singular,  but  not  by  any  means 
incompatible,  we  think,  even  with  her  situation.  If 
Connor,  for  instance,  was  any  short  time  absent,  and 
another  person  supplied  her  place,  the  Cooleen  Bawn,  in 
whose   noble   and   loving  heart   the   strong    instincts    of 


WILLY  REILLY.  413 

affection  could  never  dip,  uniformly  appeared  dissatisfied 
and  uneasy,  and  looked  around  her,  as  if  for  some  object 
that^  would  afford  her  pleasure.  On  Ellen's  re-appearance, 
a  faint  but  placid  smile  would  shed  its  feeble  light  over 
her  countenance,  and  she  would  appear  calm  and  con- 
tented ;  but,  during  all  this  time,  word  uttered  she  none, 
with  the  exception  of  those  to  which  we  have  already 
alluded. 

These  were  the  only  words  she  was  known  to  utter,  and 
no  stranger  ever  came  in  her  way  to  whom  she  did  not 
repeat  them.  In  this  way  her  father,  her  maid,  and  her- 
self passed  through  a  melancholy  existence  for  better  than 
six  years,  when  a  young  physician  of  great  promise 
happened  to  settle  in  the  town  of  Sligo,  and  her  father 
having  heard  of  it  had  him  immediately  called  in.  After 
looking  at  her,  however,  he  found  himself  accosted  in  the 
3ame  terms  we  have  already  given  : 

"  Oh  !  can  you  tell  me  where  is  William  Eeilly  V 

"William  Reilly  will  soon  be  with  you,"  he  replied; 
"  he  will  soon  be  here." 

A  start — barely,  scarcely  perceptible,  was  noticed  by  the 
keen  eye  of  the  physician ;  but  it  passed  away,  and  left 
nothing  but  that  fixed  and  beautiful  vacancy  behind  it. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  physician  ;  "  I  do  not  absolutely  despair 
of  Miss  Folliard's  recovery  :  the  influence  of  some  deep 
excitement,  if  it  could  be  made  accessible,  might  produce  a 
good  effect ;  it  was  by  a  shock  it  came  upon  her,  and  I  am 
of  opinion,  that  if  she  ever  does  recover,  it  will  be  by  some- 
thing similar  to  that  which  induced  her  pitiable  malady." 

"I  will  give  a  thousand  pounds — five  thousand — ten 
thousand,  to  any  man  who  will  be  fortunate  enough  to 
restore  her  to  reason,"  said  her  father. 

"  One  course,"  proceeded  the  physician,  "  I  would  recom- 
mend you  to  pursue ;  bring  her  about  as  much  as  you  can  ; 
give  her  variety  of  scenery  and  variety  of  new  faces;  visit 
your  friends,  and  bring  her  with  you.  This  course  may 
have  some  effect;  as  for  medicine,  it  is  of  no  use  here,  for 
her  health  is  in  every  other  respect  good." 

He  then  took  his  leave,  having  first  received  a  fee  which 
somewhat  astonished  him. 

His  advice,  however,  was  followed  ;  her  father  and  she, 


414  WILLY   REILLY. 

and  Connor,  during  the  summer  and  autumn  months, 
visited  among  their  acquaintances  and  friends,  by  whom 
they  were  treated  with  the  greatest  aud  most  considerate 
kindness;  but,  so  far  as  poor  Helen  was  concerned,  no 
symptom  of  any  salutary  change  became  visible ;  the  long, 
dull  blank  of  departed  reason  was  still  unbroken. 


Better  than  seven  years  and  a  halt  had  now  elapsed, 
when  she  and  her  father  came  by  invitation  to  pay  a  visit 
to  a  Mr.  Hamilton,  grandfather  to  the  late  Dacre  Hamilton 
of  Monaghan,  who — the  grandfather  we  mean — was  one  of 
the  most  notorious  priest-hunters  of  his  day.  We  need  not 
say  that  her  faithful  Connor  was  still  in  attendance.  Old 
Folliard  went  riding  out  with  his  friend,  for  he  was  now  so 
much  debilitated  as  to  be  scarcely  able  to  walk  abroad  for 
any  distance,  when,  about  the  hour  of  two  o'clock,  a  man 
in  the  garb,  and  with  all  the  bearing  of  a  perfect  gentle- 
man, knocked  at  the  door,  and  inquired  of  the  servant  who 
opened  it,  whether  Miss  Folliard  were  not  there.  The 
servant  replied  in  the  affirmative,  upon  which  the  stranger 
asked  if  he  could  see  her. 

"Why,  I  suppose  you  must  be  aware,  sir,  of  Miss 
Folliard's  unfortunate  state  of  mind,  and  that  she  can  see 
nobody;  sir,  she  knows  nobody,  and  I  have  strict  orders  to 
deny  her  to  every  one  unless  some  particular  friend  of  the 
family." 

The  stranger  put  a  guinea  into  his  hand,  and  added,  "  I 
had  the  pleasure  of  knowing  her  before  she  lost  her  reason, 
and  as  I  have  not  seen  her  since,  I  should  be  glad  to  see 
her  now,  or  even  to  look  on  her  for  a  few  minutes." 

"  Come  up,  sir,"  replied  the  man,  "  and  enter  the 
drawing-room  immediately  after  me,  or  I  shall  be  ordered 
to  deny  her." 

The  gentleman  followed  him ;  but  why  did  his  cheek 
become  pale,  and  why  did  his  heart  palpitate  as  if  it  would 
burst  and  bound  out  of  his  bosom  1  We  shall  see.  On 
entering  the  drawing-room,  he  bowed,  and  was  about  to 
apologise  for  his  intrusion,  when  the  Cooleen  Baton  re- 
cognising him  as  a  stranger,  approached  him  and  said : 


WILLY  REILLY.  415 

11  Oh !  can  you  tell  me  where  is  William  Reilly  1  They 
have  taken  me  from  him,  and  I  cannot  find  him.  Oh,  can 
you  tell  me  anything  about  Wil]iam  Reilly?" 

The  stranger  staggered  at  this  miserable  sight,  but 
probably  more  at  the  contemplation  of  that  love  which  not 
even  insanity  could  subdue.  He  felt  himself  obliged  to 
lean  for  support  upon  the  back  of  a  chair,  during  which 
brief  space  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  her  with  a  look  of  the 
most  inexpressible  tenderness  and  sorrow. 

"  Oh,"  she  repeated,  "  can  you  tell  me  where  is  William 
Reilly  ?" 

"  Alas  !  Helen,"  said  he,  "  I  am  William  Reilly." 

"  You !"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  oh,  no,  the  wide,  wide  Atlantic 
is  between  him  and  me." 

"It  was  between  us,  Helen,  but  it  is  not  now;  I  am 
here  in  life  before  you — your  own  AVilliam  Reilly ;  that 
William  Reilly  whom  you  loved  so  well,  but  so  fatally ;  I 
am  he,  do  you  not  know  meV 

"  You  are  not  William  Reilly,"  she  replied ;  "  if  you 
were,  you  would  have  a  token." 

"  Do  you  forget  that  1"  he  replied,  placing  in  her  hand 
the  emerald  ring  she  had  given  him  at  the  trial.  Shj 
started  on  looking  at  it,  and  a  feeble  Hash  was  observed  to 
proceed  from  her  eyes. 

"  This  might  come  to  you,"  she  said,  "  by  Reilly's  death  ; 
yes,  this  might  come  to  you  in  thai  way ;  but  there  is 
another  token,  which  is  known  to  none  but  himself  and 
me." 

"  Whisper,"  said  he,  and  as  he  spoke  he  applied  his 
mouth  to  her  ear,  and  breathed  the  token  into  it.  She 
stood  back,  her  eyes  flashed,  her  beautiful  bosom  heaved ; 
she  advanced,  looked  once  more,  and  exclaimed  with  a 
scream,  "It  is  he!  it  is  he!"  and  the  next  moment  she 
was  insensible  in  his  arms.  Long  but  precious  was  that 
insensibility,  and  precious  were  the  tears  which  his  eyes 
rained  down  upon  that  pale  but  lovely  countenance.  She 
was  soon  placed  upon  a  settee,  but  Reilly  knelt  beside  her, 
and  held  one  of  her  hands  in  his.  After  a  long  trance,  she 
opened  her  eyes  and  again  started.  Reilly  pressed  her 
hand  and  whispered  in  her  ear,  "Helen,  I  am  with  you  at 
last." 


416  WILLY  IiEILLY. 

She  smiled  on  him  and  said,  "  Help  me  to  sifc  up,  until 
I  look  about  me,  that  I  may  be  certain  this  is  not  a 
dream." 

She  then  looked  about  her,  and  as  the  ladies  of  the 
fami'ly  spoke  tenderly  to  her,  and  caressed  her,  she  fixed 
her  eyes  once  more  upon  her  lover,  and  said,  "It  is  not  a 
dream  then ;  this  is  a  reality ;  but,  alas !  Eeilly,  I  tremble 
to  think  lest  they  should  take  you  from  me  again." 

"You  need  entertain  no  such  apprehension,  my  dear 
Helen,"  said  the  lady  of  the  mansion;  "I  have  ofteu  heard 
your  rather  say,  that  he  would  give  twenty  thousand 
pounds  to  have  you  well,  and  Eeilly's  wife.  In  fact,  you 
have  nothing  to  fear  in  that,  or  any  other  quarter.  But 
there's  his  knock  ;  he  and  my  husband  have  returned,  and 
I  must  break  this  blessed  news  to  him  by  degrees,  lest  it 
might  be  too  much  for  him  if  communicated  without  due 
and  proper  caution." 

She  accordingly  went  down  to  the  hall,  where  they  were 
hanging  up  their  great-coats  and  hats,  and  brought  them 
into  her  husband's  study. 

"Mr.  Folliard,"  said  she  with  a  cheerful  face,  "  I  think, 
from  some  symptoms  of  improvement  noticed  to-day  in 
Helen,  that  we  needn't  be  without  hope." 

"Alas,  alas!"  exclaimed  the  poor  father,  "I  have  no 
hope;  after  such  a  length  of  time  I  am,  indeed,  without  a 
shadow  of  expectation.  If  unfortunate  Eeilly  were  here, 
indeed,  her  seeing  him,  as  that  Sligo  doctor  told  me,  might 
give  her  a  chance.  He  saw  her  about  a  week  before  we 
came  down,  and  those  were  his  words.  But  as  for  Eeilly, 
even  if  he  were  in  the  country,  how  could  I  look  him  in 
the  face  ?  What  wouldn't  I  give  now  that  he  were  here, 
that  Helen  was  well,  and  that  one  word  of  mine  could 
make  them  man  and  wife  V 

"  Well,  well,"  she  replied,  "  don't  be  cast  down;  perhaps 
I  could  tell  you  good  news  if  I  wished." 

"You're  beating  about  the  bush,  Mary,  at  all  events," 
said  her  husband,  laughing. 

"Perhaps  now,  Mr.  Folliard,"  she  continued,  "I  could 
introduce  a  young  lady  who  is  so  fond  of  you,  old  and  Ugly 
as  you  are,  that  she  would  not  hesitate  to  kiss  you  tenderly, 
and  cry  with  delight  on  your  bosom,  you  old  thiei," 


WILLY  REILLY.  417 

They  both  started  at  her  words  with  amazement,  and 
her  husband  said — "Egad,  Alick,  Helen's  malady  seems 
catching.  What  the  deuce  do  you  mean,  Molly  %  or  must 
I,  too,  send  for  a  doctor1?" 

"  Shall  I  introduce  you  to  the  lady,  though  Vs  she  pro- 
ceeded, addressing  the  father;  "but  remember  that,  if  I 
do,  you  must  be  a  man,  Mr.  Folliard !" 

"  In  God's  name  !  do  what  you  like,"  said  Mr.  Hamilton ; 
"  but  do  it  at  once." 

She  went  up-stairs,  and  said,  "As  I  do  not  wish  to 
bring  your  father  up,  Helen,  until  he  is  prepared  for  a 
meeting  with  Mr.  Keilly,  I  will  bring  you  down  to  him. 
The  sight  of  you  now  will  give  him  new  life." 

"  Oh,  come,  then,"  said  Helen,  "  bring  me  to  my  father ; 
do  not  lose  a  moment,  not  a  moment ! — oh,  let  me  see  him 
instantly." 

The  poor  old  man  suspected  something.  "For  a  thou- 
sand !"  said  he,  "  this  is  some  good  news  about  Helen !" 

"Make  your  mind  up  for  that,"  replied  his  friend;  "as 
sure  as  you  live  it  is  ;  and  if  it  be,  bear  it  stoutly." 

In  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  Mrs.  Hamilton  entered 
the  room  with  Helen,  now  awakened  to  perfect  reason, 
smiling,  and  leaning  upon  her  arm.  "Oh,  dear  papa  !"  she 
exclaimed,  meeting  him,  with  a  flood  of  tears,  and  resting 
her  head  on  his  bosom. 

"What,  my  darling! — my  darling!  And  you  know 
papa  once  more  ; — you  know  him  again,  my  darling  Helen, 
Oh,  thanks  be  to  God  for  this  happy  day  !"  And  he  kissed, 
her  lips,  and  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  and  wept  over  her 
with  ecstasy  and  delight.  It  was  a  tender  and  tearful 
embrace. 

"  Oh,  papa !"  said  she,  "  I  fear  I  have  caused  you  much 
pain  and  sorrow ;  something  has  been  wrong,  but  I  am  well 
now  that  he  is  here.  I  felt  the  tones  of  his  voice  in  my 
heart." 

"  Who,  darling,  who  ¥ 

"Ileilly,  papa." 

"Hamilton,  bring  him  down  instantly;  but  oh,  Helen, 
darling,  how  will  I  see  him'? — how  can  I  see  him?  But  he 
must  come,  and  we  must  all  be  happy.     Bring  him  down." 

"You  know,  papa,  that  Reilly  is  generosity  itself1?" 

2d 


418  WILLY   REILLY. 

"  He  is,  he  is,  Helen,  and  how  could  I  blame  you  for 
loving  him?" 

Keilly  soon  entered ;  but  the  old  man,  already  over- 
powered by  what  had  just  occurred,  was  not  able  to  speak 
to  him  for  some  time.  He  clasped  and  pressed  his  hand, 
however,  and  at  length  said : 

"  My  son !  my  son !  Now,"  he  added,  after  he  had 
recovered  himself,  "  now  that  I  have  both  together,  I  will 
not  allow  one  minute  to  pass  until  I  give  you  both  my 
blessing;  and  in  due  time,  when  Helen  gets  strong,  and 
when  I  get  a  little  stouter,  you  shall  be  married ;  the 
parson  and  the  priest  will  make  you  both  happy.  Eeilly, 
can  you  forgive  mel" 

"I  have  nothing  to  forgive  you,  sir,"  replied  Eeilly; 
"  whatever  you  did  proceeded  from  your  excessive  affection 
for  your  daughter ;  I  am  more  than  overpaid  for  anything 
I  may  have  suffered  myself ;  had  it  been  ages  of  misery, 
this  one  moment  would  cancel  the  memory  of  it  for  ever." 

"  I  cannot  give  you  my  estate,  Eeilly,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  for  that  is  entailed,  and  goes  to  the  next  male  issue ;  but 
I  can  give  you  fifty  thousand  pounds  with  my  girl,  and 
that  will  keep  you  both  comfortable  for  life." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,"  replied  Eeilly,  "  and  for  the  sake  of 
your  daughter  I  will  not  reject  it;  but  I  am  myself  in 
independent  circumstances,  and  could  even  without  your 
generosity,  support  Helen  in  a  rank  of  life  not  unsuitable 
to  her  condition." 

It  is  well  known  that,  during  the  period  in  which  the 
incidents  of  our  story  took  place,  no  man  claiming  the 
character  of  a  gentleman  ever  travelled  without  his  own 
servant  to  attend  him.  After  Eeilly's  return  to  his  native 
place,  his  first  inquiries,  as  might  be  expected,  were  after 
his  Cooleen  Hawn  ;  and  his  next,  after  those  who  had  been 
in  some  degree  connected  with  those  painful  circumstances 
in  which  he  had  been  involved  previous  to  his  trial  and 
conviction.  He  found  Mr.  Brown  and  Mr.  Hastings  much 
in  the  same  state  in  which  he  left  them.  The  latter, 
who  had  been  entrusted  with  all  his  personal  and  other 
property,  under  certain  conditions,  that  depended  upon  his 
return  after  the  term  of  his  sentence  should  have  expired, 
now  restored  to  him,   and  again  reinstated   him   on   the 


WILLY   KEILLY.  419 

original  terms  into  all  his  landed  and  other  property, 
together  with  such  sums  as  had  accrued  from  it  during  his 
absence,  so  that  he  now  found  himself  a  wealthy  man. 
Next  to  Cooleen  Bawn,  however,  one  of  his  first  inquiries 
was  after  Fergus  Eeilly,  whom  he  found  domiciled  with  a 
neighbouring  middleman  as  a  head  servant,  or  kind  of 
under  steward.  We  need  not  describe  the  delight  of 
Fergus  on  once  more  meeting  his  beloved  relative  at  per- 
fect liberty,  and  free  from  all  danger  in  his  native  land. 

"Fergus,"  said  Eeilly,  ':  I  understand  you  are  still  a 
bachelor — how  does  that  come?" 

"  Why,  sir,"  replied  Fergus,  "  now  that  you  know  every- 
thing about  the  unhappy  state  of  the  Cooleen  Bawn,  surely 
you  can't  blame  poor  Ellen  for  not  desartin'  her.  As  for 
me  I  cared  nothing  about  any  other  girl,  and  I  never  could 
let  either  my  own  dhrame,  or  what  you  said  was  yours,  out 
o'  my  head.  I  still  had  hope,  and  I  still  have,  that  she  may 
recover." 

Eeilly  made  no  reply  to  this,  for  he  feared  to  entertain 
the  vague  expectation  to  which  Fergus  alluded. 

"  Well,  Fergus,"  said  he,  "  although  I  have  undergone 
the  sentence  of  a  convict,  yet  now,  after  my  return,  I  am  a 
rich  man.  For  the  sake  of  old  times — of  old  dangers  and 
old  difficulties — I  should  wish  you  to  live  with  me,  and  to 
attend  me  as  my  own  personal  servant  or  man.  I  shall  get 
you  a  suit  of  livery,  and  the  crest  of  O'Reilly  shall  be  upon 
it.  I  wish  you  to  attend  upon  me,  Fergus,  because  you 
understand  me,  and  because  I  never  will  enjoy  a  happy 
heart,  or  one  day's  freedom  from  sorrow  again.  All  hope 
of  that  is  past,  but  you  will  be  useful  to  me — and  that  you 
know. 

Fergus  was  deeply  affected  at  those  words,  although  he 
was  gratified  in  the  highest  degree  at  the  proposal.  In  the 
course  of  a  few  days  he  entered  upon  his  duties,  imme- 
diately after  which  Eeilly  set  out  on  his  journey  to 
Monaghan,  to  see  once  more  his  beloved,  but  unhappy 
Cooleen  Bawn.  On  arriving  at  that  handsome  and  hospi- 
table town,  he  put  up  at  an  excellent  inn,  called  the 
11  Westenra  Arms,"  kept  by  a  man  who  was  the  model  of 
innkeepers,  known  by  the  soubriquet  of  "honest  Peter 
M'!Philips."      We   need   not  now  recapitulate   that   with 


420  WILLY  REILLY. 

which  the  reader  is  already  acquainted;  but  we  cannot 
omit  describing  a  brief  interview  which  took  place  in  the 
course  of  a  few  days  after  the  restoration  of  the  Cooleen 
Bawn  to  the  perfect  use  of  her  reason,  between  two  indivi- 
duals, who,  we  think,  have  some  claim  upon  the  good  will 
and  good  wishes  of  our  readers.  We  allude  to  Fergus 
Reilly  and  the  faithful  Ellen  Connor.  Seated  in  a  com- 
fortable room  in  tne  aforesaid  inn — now  a  respectable  and 
admirably  kept  hotel — with  the  same  arms  over  the  door, 
were  the  two  individuals  alluded  to.  Before  them  stood 
a  black  bottle  of  a  certain  fragrant  liquor,  as  clear  and 
colourless  as  water  from  the  purest  spring,  and,  to  judge  of 
it  by  the  eye,  quite  as  harmless;  but  there  was  the 
mistake.  Never  was  hypocrisy  better  exemplified  than  by 
the  contents  of  that  bottle.  The  liquor  in  question  came, 
Fergus  was  informed,  from  the  green  woods  of  Truagh,  and 
more  especially  from  a  townland  name  Derrygola,  famous, 
besides,  for  stout  men  and  pretty  girls. 

"Well,  now,  Ellen  darlin',"  said  Fergus,  "if  ever  any 
two  bachelors*  were  entitled  to  drink  their  own  healths, 
surely  you  and  I  are.  Here's  to  us — a  happy  marriage, 
soon  and  sudden.  As  for  myself,  I've  had  the  patience  of 
a  Trojan." 

Ellen  pledged  him  beautifully  with  her  eyes,  but  very 
moderately  with  the  liquor. 

"  Bedad  !"  he  proceeded,  "seven  years — ay,  and  a  half — 
wasn't  a  bad  apprenticeship,  at  any  rate ;  but,  as  I  tould 
Mr.  Reilly  before  he  left  the  country — upon  my  sowl,  says 
I,  Mr.  Reilly,  she's  worth  waitin'  for ;  and  he  admitted  it." 

"But,  Fergus,  did  ever  anything  turn  out  so  happy  for 
all  parties]  To  me  it's  like  a  dream;  I  can  scarcely  believe 
it." 

"Faith,  and  if  it  be  a  dhrame,  I  hope  it's  one  we'll  never 
waken  from.  And  so  the  four  of  us  are  to  be  married  on 
the  same  day,  and  we're  all  to  live  with  the  Squire." 

"  We  are,  Fergus,  the  Cooleen  Bawn  will  have  it  so ;  but, 
indeed, her fatheris  as  anxious  for  it  almost  as  she  is.     Ah, 


*  "  Bachelor,"  in  Ireland,  especially  in  the  country  parts  of  it, 
where  English  is  not  spoken  correctly,  is  frequently  applied  to  both 


WILLY   REILLY.  421 

no,  Fergus,  she  could  not  part  with  her  faithful  Ellen,  as 
she  calls  me ;  nor,  after  all,  Fergus,  would  her  faithful 
Ellen  wish  to  part  with  her." 

"  And  he's  to  make  me  steward ;  begad,  and  if  I  don't 
make  a  good  one,  I'll  make  an  honest  one.  Faith,  at  all 
events,  Ellen,  we'll  be  in  a  condition  to  provide  for  the 
childre',  plaise  God." 

Ellen  gave  him  a  blushing  look  of  reproach,  and  desired 
him  to  keep  a  proper  tongue  in  his  head. 

"  But  what  will  we  do  with  the  five  hundred,  Ellen,  that 
the  Squire  and  Mr.  Reilly  made  up  between  them  V 

"  We'll  consult  Mr.  Reilly  about  it,"  she  replied,  "  and 
no  doubt  but  he'll  enable  us  to  lay  it  out  to  the  best 
advantage.  Now,  Fergus  dear,  I  must  go,"  she  added, 
"you  know  she  can't  bear  me  even  now  to  be  any  length  of 
time  away  from  her.  Here's,  God  bless  them  both,  and 
continue  them  in  the  happiness  they  now  enjoy." 

"Amen,"  replied  Fergus,  "and  here's,  God  bless  our- 
selves, and  make  us  more  lovin'  to  one  another  every  day 
we  rise ;  and  here's  to  take  a  foretaste  of  it  now,  you 
thief." 

Some  slight  resistance,  followed  by  certain  smacking 
sounds,  closed  the  interview ;  for  Ellen,  having  started  to 
her  feet,  threw  on  her  cloak  and  bonnet,  and  hurried  out 
of  the  room,  giving  back,  however,  a  laughing  look  at 
Fergus,  as  she  escaped." 

In  a  few  months  afterwards  they  were  married,  and 
lived  with  the  old  man,  until  he  became  grandfather  to 
two  children,  the  eldest  a  boy,  and  the  second  a  girl. 
Upon  the  same  day  of  their  marriage,  their  humble  but 
faithful  friends  were  also  united ;  so  that  there  was  a 
double  wedding.  The  ceremony,  in  the  case  of  Reilly  and 
his  Cooleen  Bawn,  was  performed  by  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Brown  first,  and  the  parish  priest  afterwards ;  Mr.  Strong, 
who  had  been  for  several  years  conjoined  to  Mrs.  Smell- 
priest,  having  been  rejected  by  both  parties  as  the  officiat- 
iug  clergyman  upon  the  occasion,  although  the  lovely  bride 
was  certainly  his  parishioner.  Age  and  time,  however, 
told  upon  the  old  man;  and  at  the  expiration  of  three 
years  they  laid  him,  with  many  tears,  in  the  grave  of  his 
fathers.     Soon  after  this  Reilly  and  his  wife,  accompanied 


422  WILLY  REILLY. 

by  Fergus  and  Ellen — for  the  Cooleen  Bawn  would  not  be 
separated  from  the  latter — removed  to  the  Continent  where 
they  had  a  numerous  family,  principally  of  sons ;  and  we 
need  not  tell  our  learned  readers,  at  least,  that  those  young 
men  distinguished  not  only  themselves  but  their  name,  by 
acts  of  the  most  brilliant  courage  in  Continental  warfare. 
And  so,  gentle  reader,  ends  the  troubled  history  of  Willy 
Reilly  and  his  own  Cooleen  Bawn. 


THE  ENI>. 


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